#take a shot every time derek almost dies and then he actually dies?

[burningthetree]

yeah okay this was bad

finally watching teen wolf the movie, surely it can’t be that bad

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

enemies to lovers w/ spencer reid plzz 💗

.⋆｡Whispers in the Dark｡⋆.

Spencer Reid x plus size reader

You and Spencer have been at each other’s throats for months and the team is sick of it. So while on a case in a conveniently tiny town, they do something to fix it

Warnings: usual cm warnings (kidnapping, murder, serial killer), enemies to lovers, one bed trope (i’m not sorry), confessions, little bit of partial nudity, Spencer and reader are horny for each other and neither know how to deal with it, implied smut WC: 2.4k

6k Follower Celebration Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

If there was one thing that was a guarantee in this life, it was the DOCTOR (as he always liked to remind you) Spencer Reid would not keep his fucking mouth shut. You used to think it was endearing the way he so passionately spoke about anything and everything but after the 30th time he interrupted you (in front of every mind you), it got annoying real fast. And somehow, it was even worse today.

A series of kidnappings occurring in a small town in the middle of buttfuck nowhere that exactly replicated the town’s urban legend about a vengeful spirit killing those who tried to leave without offering sacrifice. Given your extensive knowledge on the development of folklore specifically tied to serial killers, it was an unspoken agreement that you would be taking the lead on the case.

But Reid had a very different idea.

“This is obviously someone using the story to get rid of people they have a vendetta against.” You fought the urge to roll your eyes at the young doctor. His lean body blocked the column of victim photos as he pointed to the map of the town beside it. He had drawn over several places with a red marker and although the abduction sites did fall into his contracted triangle of a comfort zone, something in your gut told you it was more than that.

“Look, I’m going to keep saying it. This goes way deeper. This has been happening for generations. 2002, 1985, 1968, hell even all the way back to the fucking 1820s! It’s either all 17 year olds getting killed or 17 people killed total each year it occurs, with it switching each time.” Spencer made a sound that was almost a scoff but with Hotch’s steely gaze fixed on the both of you, he covered it up by clearing his throat.

“Mark Adin was 18.”

“He turned 18 the day he died, Reid! And if you looked at his birth certificate, you’d see that his time of death was an hour before he would actually turn 18.”

“If you would just-“

“Alright!” Derek placed a firm hand onto Spencer’s shoulder, making him stumble slightly. “We get it, you’re both freakishly smart but I think it’s late and we all need some sleep.” He shot you a look as you crossed your arms over your chest, red hot anger and frustration still bubbling up inside you.

It always ended like that, one of the other members of your team stepped in before insults could be hurled (it’s happened once or twice before) and suggested a break while you and Spencer continued to glare at each other. He continuously undermined your theories and in return, you questioned his intelligence. 

“I’m sure Y/L/N will realise how ridiculous she’s being after some undeserved rest. I mean, when is she ever right.” Your stomach dropped and Derek’s smile dimmed for a second before he wound an arm around the young doctor’s shoulders and guided him out of the conference room the team had commandeered far quicker than he normally did.

You opened your mouth to shout something back at him but Emily grabbed your forearm before you could. “It’s not worth it.” You met her gaze and quickly deflated.

“Yeah okay.” She gave you a soft smile as you both left the room together, missing the weighty glance Hotch and Rossi shared.

——————

“I can’t believe that you and JJ are doing this to me,” you whined, hiking up the strap of your go-bag higher on your shoulder, “you promised last time that we had to share rooms that it would be you and me. I don’t want to get stuck with Hotch again, he snores like a fucking freight train.” Emily poked your ribs as she passed by, shooting you a mischievous grin.

“You were too busy flirting with Reid to notice us making sleeping arrangements.” You huffed and followed her out of the elevator.

“I wasn’t FlIrTinG with him and by the way, that’s disgusting you even thought of that.” The hallway was dead silent save for the faint buzz of the ice machine at the very end.

“Yeah, that’s definitely why you totally weren’t checking out his ass while he was setting up the white board.”

“Emily!” You hissed but she only laughed in response. 

“Come on, it’s so obvious that you like him! This childish rivalry you have is just sexual tension so for all of our sakes can you please just fuck him already so we can actually do our jobs.” 

“Alright maybe I would like him if he wasn’t such an ass to me all the time.” You conceded, earning you a sly grin from your friend as you both came to a stop outside your hotel room door. “But! He constantly undermines me and makes me feel like shit so it’s never gonna happen.”

Emily stood by her own door, her key-card already in hand. “And you love to rile him up. So, never say never.” And with that, she slipped into her room, shutting the door before you could retort.

You rolled your eyes as you unlocked your own door and stepped in. The shower was already running but what mainly concerned you was the lack of a second bed. You sighed heavily, dropping your bag on the empty side away from the door.  You were too exhausted and frustrated to even be mad about having to share both a room and a bed with your boss. Too exhausted in fact to notice the sweater on the chair in the corner couldn’t have possibly belonged to the older man.

Quickly, you stripped down to your underwear and slipped on your sleep clothes, figuring you could wake up early and shower before heading back to the police station. You sighed as you crawled beneath the sheets, the worn mattress immediately cradling your soft body.

Your eyelids had just begun to flutter shut when the water turned off. You turned onto your other side in anticipation of the bright light from the bathroom fully waking you up but what you didn’t expect was the accompaniment of the one voice you hadn’t wanted to hear until you had at least 6 hours of sleep and a massive coffee.

“What the hell?” 

“Fuck me.” You sat up and took in the sight of a very damp Spencer Reid wearing only a towel around his waist. You refused to look down at his naked torso (no matter how badly you wanted to). 

“You’re not Morgan.” He retorted.

“And here I was thinking you were a genius. Do you usually walk around half-naked with Derek?” He didn’t dignify you with a response this time, only grabbing his bag and retreating to the bathroom once more. As soon as the door shut, you launched yourself at your phone.

<I’m going to fucking kill you

>We’ve all packed noise cancelling headphones so don’t hold back ;)

>BTW before you even ask, there’s no more rooms available. Small towns are just great aren’t they

<I’ll get you back for this

>Sweet dreams

You could scream as you shut off your phone, Emily’s texts disappearing, leaving you staring at your reflection on the black screen. You should’ve known something was up when Hotch insisted that everyone take separate SUVs to the hotel under the guise of everyone splitting up first thing in the morning. The man was a fucking menace. 

The mattress groaned as you laid back down, far closer to the edge this time. If Spencer took your hint and just left you alone for the rest of the night, you would consider it an overwhelming success. This time when the door opened, the light was already off, letting you breathe a sigh of relief.

The bed dipped and your body tensed for a moment. You waited for him to speak, but when he didn’t, you finally relaxed. In the silence and darkness of the room, you could pretend that you were anywhere else.

“Will you stop hogging the blankets?” You knew this peace couldn’t have possibly lasted.

“If you had turned on the heater I wouldn’t have to.” You grumbled but still released your hold on the covers just enough for him to take some more of it.

“Not my fault you’re always freezing for no reason.” The blanket lifted from your leg as Spencer fully wrapped himself up. You sighed but decided not to pick a fight, Emily’s words still circling your mind. Instead you wrapped your arms around your stomach as you drew your legs up, curling around yourself. You just wanted to sleep.

“What, no witty comeback?” You sighed heavily and squeezed your eyes shut.

“I get that I don’t ‘deserve to rest’ but I’m exhausted Spencer. Neither of us want to be here so can we just try to get some sleep and leave each other alone.” Thankfully, he stayed silent, for a moment at least.

“You called me Spencer.”

“Oh my god, can you please just let me sleep? Yes I called you Spencer, it’s your name isn’t it?” You snapped although you knew what he meant. You had never even referred to him by his first name in the almost 18 months since you had been on the team, just the same as he did with you. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Fine.” You pressed your face into the thin pillow beneath your head, determined to finally fall asleep.

“No, Y/N I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did. There’s a lot of things I shouldn’t have said to you.” The bedsprings screamed in the quiet of the room and suddenly you could feel the gentle brush of Spencer’s breath along the back of your neck. You suppressed a shiver as best you could. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“Why are you bringing this up now? Are you trying to get laid or something?” Your tone held no bite but you could still feel the way he flinched. A sour taste bloomed in your mouth. “Sorry. For what it’s worth, I’ve been an asshole to you too.”

Tentatively, you rolled onto your back, your shoulder now brushing his. Soft light bled into the room from the light in the hallway, dimly letting you see his silhouette. Already, Spencer’s hair was a mess, different strands sticking up or to his face. His right hand rested on his chest while the left was by his side, barely a fraction of an inch from touching your own. He turned his head, making eye-contact with you for probably the first time since you had known him.

“Why— What did I do to make you hate me so much?” You muttered, suddenly unable to speak any louder than a whisper. You watched his chest hitch and then deflate.

“You didn’t do anything. I guess— it was easier to hate you than admit the truth.” The warmth of his skin made you breathe a sigh of relief as he pressed his hand to yours.

“And what is the truth Spencer?” Even in the limited light, you could see the way his eyes dropped to your lips. His lithe fingers curled around your wrist and gently lifted your hands so that it rested between your heads. 

“That when I’m around you, I can’t concentrate on anything besides how beautiful you are, how intelligent, how capable. You’ve had me wrapped around your finger since the moment we met and it’s angered me.” You didn’t realise how close you were to him until the tip of his nose bumped against yours. You sucked in a breath but it did nothing to ease the floating feeling in your stomach.

“Why’s that?” You were both now on your sides in the middle of the bed, on the edge of something more, if only one of you would fall first.

“Because I knew that the second I accepted it, there was nothing I could do to stop myself from falling for you, even if you would never feel the same.” 

You smirked. “And here I was thinking you were the smartest man alive, Dr Reid.” He pressed his lips to your knuckles with a smile and before you could tell him that he was wrong and quite frankly dumb for not seeing through you (like everyone else on the team did), his hand was on your jaw and his lips on yours.

You moaned into his mouth when he leaned onto you. You grabbed at his back under his shirt, your nails digging into the surprisingly well-defined muscles along his spine. Spencer’s head tilted, encouraging the kiss to become more passionate as his tongue traced your bottom lip. You tangled your fingers in his messy hair, tugging at it slightly as your mind began to go fuzzy with the lack of oxygen. 

Spencer smiled against your lips, placing two or three more soft kisses against them before rolling onto his back once more, leaving you breathless beside him. You followed him down, putting your head on his pillow. You stole another peck from him as he clutched at your wide hips.

“I can’t believe how long it’s taken us to finally talk this out. We were both being really stupid.” You giggled against his now swollen lips.

“Yeah we have.” Something tugged at your mind, breaking you away from the warm bubble of affection you were lost in.

You shot up. “What, what is it? Did I do something wrong?” Spencer practically pleaded, his hand tightly gripping at your thigh.

“You’re right, we were both being stupid! We’re both correct. What if it’s not just one unsub, but a whole family of them? 17 years between killings, Spencer!” Now it was his turn to sit up, his brown eyes wide with realisation.

“It’s a coming of age ritual. The unsub is killing people they know but under the guidance of the person that did it before them.”

“So the place where they’re keeping the victims before they kill them should be in the comfort zone and it should line up with all the past ones!” He beamed at you. “But maybe we should wait till morning to tell the others, they do need their beauty sleep.”

“And we don’t?” His hand moved higher, slipping beneath your sleep shorts, making you shudder.

“Definitely not.” You swung your leg over his hips and sat on his thighs, kissing him once more.

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Criminal Minds

@lokiandbuckysdoll

[masterwords]

go the f*ck to sleep

Summary: JJ sees Hotch struggling with single parenthood and offers to help. Miraculously...he accepts.

Pairing: none

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: mentions of canon character deaths (haley & jj's sister), insomnia, grief, depression

Notes: I woke up this morning and had this image in my mind. It was written so fast and it's barely a fully fledged thought but...here you go. It's sad Hotch hours. And it isn't hotchgan! (I have a lot of that coming your way in the next week though, between several stories and several moodboards.) Merry Thursday!

*********

It wasn’t much. Hell, it was barely anything at all, she thought as she set the paper cup (extra hot americano, double shot) on Hotch’s desk. She held the card in her hands, hesitant. His office was cleaner than it had been in as long as she could remember, and it made her deeply uncomfortable. Like he was hiding something.

He’d always been an open book when it came to his work load. Case files and reports stacked on his desk, his email perpetually two away from being overflowing, the data on his phone complaining about the number of texts he wouldn’t delete. Just in case he needed them. (And he had needed plenty of them, so the end justified the means, so to speak.) So this new thing, this clean office, clean desk, organized email inbox...well she was a little concerned.

Everyone deals with grief differently and as she looked around at this office she barely recognized, JJ could see his grief written in every tidy corner, every neatly filed piece of paper. Maybe he was on top of it so he could be home with Jack, that was best case scenario, but what she thought might actually be happening was that he’d simply begun taking all of it home with him. That he was drowning in his apartment where no one could save him.

She looked at the card in her hand and thought about her parents grieving over her sister. How her father stopped talking to her for months, how her mother doubled down on the anger and the intensity. How she became a surrogate for what was lost but not in any helpful way. She could remember it all vividly while knowing there was a lot of that time she’d never really be able to access. She was older than Jack when her sister died, Jack would have even fewer memories when he was grown. He’d barely have a glowing faded ghost of a mom in his head, but he’d have a hardened father who can’t smile and can’t sleep that is tangible and be full of resentment. She knew that from experience.

That was enough to make her set the card down. She might be overstepping, she probably was, and he might just drink the coffee and toss the card in the garbage can (she knew he wouldn’t) but she had to try. Derek was still trying, still absorbing a lot of the work load, anything he could without stepping on Hotch’s toes but everyone else had gone back to business as usual. She couldn’t leave Derek to shoulder this burden on his own, she had to try to help.

She was in a meeting with Strauss and Garcia when he finally made his way to his office. The coffee, once piping hot, was cold and he stared at it long and hard for a minute in disbelief. It had already been a hellscape of a morning, putting out fires left and right...most of which weren’t even his fires...and the sight of the coffee there almost pushed him over some inexplicable ledge. He sat on the couch, but it looked and felt a lot more like falling, like collapsing, like his legs simply giving out.

If the coffee came close, the card did the real pushing.

“Hotch,

When I had Henry, everyone made jokes about finally really knowing what it was like to need coffee...well they weren’t kidding. I know Jack isn’t a newborn, but I have a feeling the sentiment will ring true still. So here’s to coffee, huh?

From one caffeine addict to another, if you ever need help with Jack, call anytime. Henry could use a big brother to show him the ropes.

JJ”

The tone of the card was light, casual, but the sincerity in it made his chest ache. The likelihood of him asking JJ to babysit Jack for him was slim, he thought she knew that when she wrote it, but all the same he was touched by the sentiment. And the coffee, once reheated, was exactly what he needed to pick himself up and finish the day on his own two feet. (Before collapsing into bed as soon as Jack was asleep only to toss and turn all night long again and again and again and again. Only to finally crawl out of bed at 3am after sleeping in rough ten minute intervals all night, dragging himself to his messy home office and watching the sun slowly creep through his closed blinds with tired eyes and piles of paperwork as high as his knees.)

When he did finally call JJ for help, he’d been at the sleepless night thing for three months and things were starting to feel filmy and unreal. He was at the end of his rope. Derek had been his lifeline in many ways, absorbing the work load when it got to be too much, but he didn’t know the first thing about kids so Hotch couldn’t ask him to babysit. It would be a disaster. Then he remembered JJ’s card, and it felt like his last line of defense. A hail mary. “Could you watch Jack for me for an hour or two?”

“You have a date?” she asked with a cheeky smile, pushing a spoonful of mashed potato into Henry’s waiting little mouth while holding the phone between her shoulder and her ear. Hotch let out the saddest laugh she thought she’d ever heard.

“Not exactly. I was hoping to try to take a nap.”

“Ahhh, yes. I hear you. If I didn’t have Will forcing me to take naps during the day…” she paused, biting into her lip. The queen of foot in mouth has done it again, she thought. “Well. Just give me a time and I’ll be there.”

He made a pot of coffee and showed her around, giving her the lay of the land like she’d never been inside before. Like she hadn’t gone in after Foyet, gone in with Derek and Emily and Dave, ducked beneath crime scene tape to check the place out, look through his intimate things. But it was different now, there was life here. Jack’s things were brightly colored and littered the place with tiny happy bombs. An Iron Man blanket laid on the couch, a splash of bright crimson against the dull grayish brown. Legos were in the carpet, crayons all over the table with play doh crumbs and the remnants of the toast Jack was still insisting he wasn’t done with from breakfast. “I’m sorry I haven’t picked up,” he muttered, and she laughed.

“Hotch, it’s fine. This is pretty clean for someone with a kid that age. Really.”

He glanced around and shrugged, shame clawing at him in spite of her words. He should have done more to pick the place up. It really was the least he could have done, she wasn’t even accepting money from him for her time.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” he asked finally, glancing at Henry teetering on chubby little legs, brand new at the whole walking thing. He was invested in whatever it was that Jack was playing, he just had to get there first and that was slow going as a newly bipedal creature. Hotch glanced around and saw all of the choking hazards, the glass, the outlets not covered, the corners to bang his head on and the kitchen drawers easily opened to danger and death. His apartment wasn’t baby proofed because he never had Jack here at that age. He hadn’t thought this through. Not only that, but he noticed that Jack still had bright purple and green marker on his chin and forearms, remnants of his unsupervised tattoo session while Hotch was shaving one room away. He thought he'd gotten all of it washed off.

“Hotch...it’s okay. I’m going to sit here with them and they’ll play and that’s it. Maybe we’ll read a few stories, color a picture, rob a bank if we get really bored…”

“Thank you JJ.”

“ Wow. Not even a laugh huh?”

He smiled weakly. “I’m sorry. I haven’t really been sleeping.” Like that should explain it all. Judging by the look she gave him, it might have. The look on her face was compassionate, but he detected a little pity there too. He figured he deserved it. If he looked in the mirror he’d give himself the same pitying look.

"Do you need a bed time story?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow. His eyes went wide for a moment, his features finally giving way to a tired smile. A real one, unprovoked.

"No. Thank you though. Really."

"Alright then, go. I’ll try to keep them quiet. Thank you for the coffee. Get some sleep Hotch.”

[scott-mccall-the-hot-girl]

theodore raeken: missing persons

( okay so i kinda had an idea ,, and then went through the whole teen wolf timeline to see if it would work ,, so here it is !!

theo’s backstory !! it started off way more messy headcannon format & then it got kinda a real story vibe ,, def thinking about making it an ao3 one shot eventually )

-

TW: very sad & hurt my feelings

don't imagine:

eight year old theo raeken...

who sleeps at his best friend scott mccall's house almost every single night, stiles is almost always there too.

theo and his friends where they all watch movies together until ungodly hours of the morning. stiles loved star wars, theo will never forget that. they had gone as luke, han and chewy for halloween that previous year. melissa went as leia. scott has always been more of a indiana jones fan himself. theo would watch either, anywhere where harrison ford was theo didn't mind being.

in this little trio, who were all raised in the mccall house, where they were given eveything they needed. sometimes when theo thought about her, when he needed to remember the good things in life. he never quite knew how she managed. expecially with scott's dad who floated in and out of the picture.

yet, it always was melissa who gave scott extra lunches to take to school because theo and his sister, who were often forgotten by their parents usually were left to fend for themselves and a fourteen year old girl rarely had the funds or mind to give a growing boy a nutritious lunch. these packed lunches always with the crust off because that's the way theo liked it. melissa always remembered.

theo had three favorite places: scott's bedroom, the corner next to his bed where theo's blow up mattress was. the bridge in which tara and he crossed everyday on their way back to raekens from school. his final place was actually beacon hills elementary.

theo always liked school. theo was good at school. he didn't realize this until mellisa had pointed out an exceptional report card. he didn't think it was much of anything to be proud of.

he liked recognizing big words from english class and novels that would help him when his mom watched jeopardy. she would watch the show every night. sitting in a daze in the raekens dark living room. not paying much mine to the eight year old, until he started blurting out the answers to her favorite show. she beamed at him. he loved his mother's smile, she had the same dimples as tara.

so yeah, when a seventeen year old theo raeken spent months filing the names of anyone ever involved in the mccall pack, current members, deceased and ones that just fell out of beacon hills. he remebered some names.

theo raeken grew up in beacon hills, and beacon hill wasn't to big of a town.

theo rembered issac lahey a quiet boy who had been in his thrid grade class, jackson whittemore who was a grade older than them and everyone knew him because he was was offered a spot on the middle school lacross team, he knew erica reyes who he rembered for her epilepsy and it made him hate himself a little less for being the king of the heart condition, he even remebered names like derek hale- who was in the same grade as tara. theo even rembered the name malia tate as she was small girl who did go to beacon hills elementary, who was always startled and always walked a bit faster than everyone else through the halls. or even lydia martin, a girl stiles had a crush on. she talked to theo a lot, lydia used to call him teddy, he didn't know when it started but he let her do it purely to spite the fact that lydia gave theo a nickname and never bothered to acknowledge stiles.

theo rembered all of them, i mean for years of his life all he had to rely on was his memory to make sure it was real.

though during the line memories turned bitter and he was left with the sour taste of resentment.

so it was weird to think despite it all, that year was one of theo's best. he never felt like he belonged. sure he had scott and stiles before but gaining friendship & being labeled as an "inseparable trio" by the sheriff station deputies, whenever they rang havoc through their office made theo's mouth crack a toothy grin. he felt like he had a family.

that was until the air started getting colder in beacon hills. theo started hearing the voices. though, even so much later in life he never could quite pin point how it started, like his brain couldn't truly decipher what was going on. some of it felt like dream, though the dreams and the thoughts. sometimes they didn't feel like his own and made him so scared he would leave the day feeling nauseous.

though this all came in spurts. his birthday was that november, and that was magical. he spent the weekend with stiles and scott, theo's mom actually made the point to bring the three of them bowling. the boys pitched in on buying theo a big millennium falcon lego set because he was always doing things with his hands, something he picked up not being so most athletic of the bunch. they also got him big poster of han solo just to spite him. he blushed and yelled at them for stupid gifts but they knew by the smile on his face he loved them.

he loved so much because despite the fact that they were poking fun at him ever so lightly, they were good natured and they held thought. they really thought about theo enough to know what he liked. he never had that before.

so the voices started getting louder again around christmas time. it was weird for theo, the happiest time of the year filled him with such excessive dread. it didn't feel right. theo's life changed that month.

then one day scott and stiles get sit down because something tragic happened. tara raeken is dead. the details are fuzzy and they don't really understand how, seeing as these boys are just in fourth grade. they are horrified, it's one of the only other times they've experienced death besides with stiles mom. though claudia stilinksi was sick, sometimes sick people die. learning about tara left a bad taste in their mouth. she was young.

they try and call, bike past is his house. they don't hear from him. they go to her funeral, scott and stiles, high on anxiety attached to their parents just trying to sneak a peak of where their best friends may be. he's gone, that's the conclusion they come to, he's gone. they don't know how it could have happened, they just know that he isn't there. why wouldn't he be there?

they try and talk to the raekens but haunted by their daughters death, they paid less attention to theo than before. they barley give them a straight answer, melissa explains what grief can do to a family and not to blame them but is equally suspicious.

just take a minute to think, while scott and stiles are scared and searching for their best friend, theo raeken, barley nine years old is given a heart transplant. alone in a dark and cold sewer hidden deep under beacon hills, horrified and a failure, that's what the dread doctors tell him. a boy who keeps quiet, does what needs to be done and has to survive. doing absolutely everything he can to be kept around, the second he heals (which theo recognizes is abnormally fast) the doctors are straight out of beacon hills.

the doctors eventually find his parents too, who leave beacon hills, he doesn't exactly know what happened to them. he doesn't everything he can not to think about the possibilities. he hopes he has a chance, survival instincts flourish but the ideal of living isn't quite the same as surviving.

one day, the doctors inform him he has absolutely nothing to go back to, he figured this he just be didn't think they would actually tell him. they never told him much.

they are far away from beacon hills- much farther than he assumed. he has no sister, and his parents are gone.

he is alone, and he is finding out that now, he has one more secret to hide. the poor boy has claw and fangs and often thinks about using them to rip himself apart, i mean he deserves it right? he just watched his sister die, to go down with the last living part of her, his own heart.

while theo is expecting his fate, stiles and scott and stuck in months of confusion. missing posters of the boys face are strung up everywhere they can reach, once his parents are gone. they know they need to do everything they can.

mellisa feels like she's been punched in the gut, so she helps her boys. she calls every hospital in the county, and then she starts reaching out to some of the bigger hospitals in the state. spreading word of a missing nine year old like wildfire. she spends nights after her shift arguing with noah stilinksi, he has been looking to. he tries to bargain logic with her.

"yeah it's strange he never said goodbye, he wasnt at the funeral- it's weird, yes, but his parents left too. their daughter just died melissa. maybe they didn't want to stay."

melissa knows, yeah that makes sense. theo had to of just moved with the raekens but something about it doesn't feel like it makes sense.

he would have said goodbye to her. she knows it.

other people in beacon hills were actually thinking the same thing, something wasn’t quite making sense.

those other people being some who can sense unrest in supernatural frequencies. a family who makes it their business to monitor the supernatural. the hales.

though, talia hales supernatural concerns didn't often revolve around fourteen year old girls who drown, shes curious. the girl, was in dereks grade. the mother in her falters but it doesn't get strange until the police reports reveal the fact that the girls heart was gone, she was found. gaping chest wound, lying in the river.

so she starts to suspect somethings wrong. she's seen the raekens case, something about it doesn't make sense. sure, the death of a teenage girl is overwhelmingly tragic but there isn't much to investigate. though talk of the raekens is getting loud, she comes to find out this is because of the raekens youngest, who was nowhere to be seen days before the funeral.

she knows the hunters are back in beacon hills. so wonders if the two correlate. so she starts asking questions.

talia, with her daughter in tow see two boys standing outside the sheriffs station, stopping people when they walk in to show they a poster. it's theo raekens missing poster, though there isn't much official about it. it seems like the sheriffs department couldn't issue anything official, so as she walks up to the boys seemed to have made dozens of copies themselves. there information seems formal enough.

she catches their anxiety heighten as talia hands the poster over to laura who stands behind her.

the taller one raises a brow, "have you seen him anywhere miss?"

she smiles, "miss hale- you can call me talia though. this is my daughter laura. we haven't seen your friend but we'd like to help..."

the taller boy nods, "well, i'm scott. that's stiles. how could you help?"

talia hale lies easily, "i've heard about what happened to the raekens and it sparked my concern. i have a friend, local sheriffs station who is awfully good with the police dogs. if you have anything that your friend owned i might be able to call i'm a favor."

a few days later, stiles had found her in the same spot as last time with a small black sweater. she smiled and told him she would do her best to help these two boys. not sure if her intrest in the case was supernatural based or because she didn't want these boys, who smelled like anxiety and exhaustion to fall down the hole of loss themselves. she wasn't sure where investigating theo’s disappearance themselves would leave them, she didn't want them getting caught up in the supernatural spiderweb of beacon hills.

though, talia hale looses scent and momentum on the case. literally and metaphorically. she finds herself near some suspicious tunnels, leading right under beacon hills but scent falls short. she's frustrated, and the time since his disappearance is lengthening but her families needs become increasingly concerning.

she's listens, she likes to know what's going on. so when she hears her sixteen year old whispering a bit more with her kid brother she raises suspicion. she doesn't trust peter like she used to, not after getting involved with the desert wolf.

paige dies months after that, dereks heartbroken and talia is trying to put together pieces of a story that turned her babies eyes blue. to young. beacon hills doesn't quite understand how another student is dead, with no previous medical history. this, the death of paige she knows is supernatural.

kate argent moves to town and in months, the hale house is burned to the ground. inside, theo raekens black sweater. tucked away in a room, where news clippings and missing posters caught fire the fastest.

so with no surprise, another tragedy is unleashed and it's the talk of the town. memory of theo starts to fade, like most things do in beacon hills. it's not anybodies fault but it still stings. though, theo million miles away hasn't felt much of anything latley.

it's been a little over a year. he hasn't cried in the past three months. he won't let himself. nobody is going to find him. he isn't going to het out. so he puts up his walls, as many as he can. he just has to stay alive a little bit longer. make something worth taras sacrifice. they had started to kill off more of the chimeras, more of their science experiments. he can't get killed, he can't do that to tara.

theo was always a fast learner. theo always liked school. theo was good at school. this wasnt exactly the same as math class at beacon hills elementary but he was picking up skills quickly. theo didn't quite recognize himself after that year. he wasn't that same boy, and that had to suite him just fine. he never had much of a choice in this. he just chose to try and keep her heart beating for as long as he could.

so theo raeken adjusted, he had to.

[whenwordsmakesense]

Another first sentence + 5 sentence fic, "I hate it when you're being a martyr!!?"

Lol, next time just send me a sentence. I don't think I'll ever be doing "only" +5 sentences xD

Okay, okay, so this isn't from my *THE* time-travel fic, but the thing is... I just love the idea of a bamf!sterek that go back in time and don't tell anyone about the truth and then comes this CONFRONTATION and everyone else is confused/in awe.

Quick rundown of dynamics, just because: Alpha Talia Hale. Human/Alpha Mate Nathaniel Hale. Betas Peter Hale, Laura Hale, Cora Hale, Claudia Stilinski. Human Noah John Stilinski. Alpha Derek Hale (but he presents as a beta to everyone except Stiles). Human Stiles Stilinski (but he is actually a spark, the strongest there is).

Idk their ages, but you can imagine Stiles as a 15/16 year old teen (he's mentally older, of course, think like... hmm... let's say he came back in time at age 21. So he should be 30, mentally). That makes Derek 21/22 (mentally 36).

Okay, enough rambling, now let's get down to the fic!! I'll be writing this from Laura's POV. Also, tell me if I should post this one on AO3? Now it's on AO3!

The Moon's Come Out

"I hate it when you're being a martyr."

Stiles' voice is a soft whisper underneath the chaos of blood and death, but it's not quite enough to drown under. It's a resigned exhale of breath, a truth so absolute that it's no longer just a truth. It's a fact.

Laura Hale wonders when her baby brother aligned himself to such a fact. She wonders lots of things about her baby brother.

She remembers the day when it all changed. When Derek changed. It was subtle, but it was prominent.

She remembers when she'd helped Derek with his flirting skills. Paige, she remembers; the same Paige who had once held Derek's eyes had been rendered into nothing that day. No, not nothing—something else. Something deeper. Something like grief.

But why would Derek grieve someone living? It's a mystery, but more than that it's an act shared between Derek and Stiles—like they're barely tethered to the world, and every moment with anyone but each other is like a gift and a curse, all in one.

But this isn't the time to think about it, how it feels like she's lost Derek once.

It's time to save him.

"Mom," her voice is a barely there sound, but her mom, her Alpha, she's here.

And she's silently crying.

"Mom, we need to- need to help him,"

Her mom is nodding her head, and they're moving between the bloody bodies—hunters, who'd come to kill them, only to die by Stiles'... everything.

Laura feels she can save him.

"Stop." Stiles' voice is still a whisper, but it's an order. A command.

Her mom—Alpha Talia Hale—stops in her tracks, and Laura, with her injured leg has to stop with her.

Dad is shouting at Cora to stay back, and John is trying to free Claudia and Peter from their confines, and Laura can hear all that. But right now, her world boils to where Derek is. On the ground, only a few feet away but so, so far away, spitting blood out of his mouth as his healing tries to kick in where the bullets are lodged on his body.

Bullets. Because Derek had jumped in front of the hunters when they started shooting at Peter and Claudia. And they're all wolfsbane laced.

Laura opens her mouth to protest, to shout, but Stiles doesn't let her.

He's always stopped her from talking.

She hates Stiles.

He's taken Derek away from her. From the pack.

"I can deal with this, you don't have to worry,"

"You can't order me around." Laura's eyes flash at her Alpha's tone, and she bares her neck.

Stiles' jaw sets with a determined look. "Oh, yeah? You really think so, Talia?" Laura watches him as he speaks, words fast paced and laced with worry and fear and anger. It's an ensemble of emotions, but even Laura has to admit that there's always been something special about this kid. His hands work as he talks.

"I mean, maybe you do. You Hales always think you know the best, don't you? It's like you think nobody else has any brains but you. Well, except Peter. That fucker is just too clever for his own good and he knows it. But he at least knows not to underestimate others. That's more than I can say for you, Talia. Or Laura. You two are so similar, you know?"

Laura does. She does know. And she is proud of that fact. But Stiles says it like a curse, like being so similar to her own mother—her Alpha—is nothing short of the worst thing.

Laura wonders why. She wonders a lot when it comes to Stiles.

"Stiles," everyone stops at that voice, as if freezing in place would freeze time itself.

Laura has been tortured, she's seen more blood than she needs to today, and she'd cried herself hoarse when they'd started to torture her previously unconscious mom. And then she'd wanted to die when the hunters turned their guns toward Cora, Claudia and Peter. So much so that she'd barely noticed Derek somehow escaping from his own personal confinement, the shackles he was in, all of it covered in wolfsbane. Neither had she witnessed Stiles breaking the literal cage the humans of their pack had been put in. But the thing that truly, truly scares her isn't any of those things. No.

It's losing Derek. Her baby brother (he used to hate it when she called him that, but when he changed, that hate turned into a grieving sort of fondness, like this was something he'd missed), who feels more like an adult than she is, her Derek. She can't lose him. She just can't.

It would break her. It would break the pack. Derek has always been the heart of it, the sweet little kid who is adored by his sisters and trusted by his parents; the man who even Peter respects, and Claudia cherishes like her own son, and John who calls him a good man.

It's no surprise they all just stop when Derek speaks for the first time since he was shot. And oh, was it only minutes ago? It feels like hours.

"Finally coherent, huh?" Stiles asks Derek, like Derek speaking right now is no big deal. Like it's that easy to try and repel the poison of wolfsbane.

"Shut up," Derek coughs out, voice throaty and weak.

"Derek," someone calls out. It's choked with tears, and it's a female, and it's her voice. "Derek! Please don't die,"

Derek tries to move his head, but falls back on the ground with a thump. Stiles swats at him, and Laura only now notices that Stiles' hands are covered in blood, one anchored on Derek's chest while the other digs around one of the holes. There's a host of bullets lying on the other side; Stiles throws another bullet there.

Perhaps everyone notices the same thing just then, because everyone makes a noise, a wail of pain and disgust and fear, all of it mixed in one sound.

Her mom has lost all her fight in herself, and Laura deflates, too. Stiles seems to know what he's doing.

And he doesn't seem to care what he sounds like.

"No, shut up? Me? Shut up? I swear to the fucking moon, you asshole, if you die on me I'll follow you. I'll fucking follow you there, because nothing is left for me here, okay, and I know you know that. You know this. How could you even do this to me? I told you to wait for my signal! I never would have let them get hurt, Derek! No, no, shut up! You keep your words to yourself and you listen, you goddamn martyr, you listen.

You made me a promise. When we came back, you promised me we'd be together. Always. We'll fix things, then we'll live, and then we'll die. Together. But you-you broke that promise, Der. You did tha-that,"

Laura is missing something. They all are.

Stiles' voice is a steady stream, a flow broken only by the cracks in his voice and the anger in it. And then it's a whisper, the height of his voice toppled down by his sorrow.

Derek smiles softly, as if Stiles worrying himself to death about him is not a new thing. Like Derek almost dies on a constant basis, and this is a routine they have—Stiles worries, Stiles shouts, and then Derek smiles because he's still here. He isn't gone yet.

Laura watches as Derek puts his weight on his elbows, brings his face close to Stiles'. Nobody interrupts them, still frozen in time, still processing what they just went through. Stiles shuts his eyes.

"I am here. I am here, Stiles," Derek tells Stiles, and Stiles takes a shaky breath, and it hangs there, that breath—the worry, the anger, the pain, everything—between them, before Derek lunges forward and presses his lips against Stiles'.

There are a few sharp breaths, and a hysterical giggle from Claudia. "I told you," she says, and Laura thinks she's saying it to John.

Laura isn't exactly surprised. She's caught them kissing multiple times, and she's always wanted to tattle on them. And she would have, because this is wrong—Stiles is a teenager and Derek is an adult—but Stiles is clever and somehow always a few steps ahead of her. He knows all of her secrets, and she'd rather he didn't but that's not the life she has. No, the life she has is—

—clearer in hindsight. She thinks back on those kisses, shared in the early mornings or late nights, between whispered words that Laura couldn't make out and with a desperation that went beyond the desperation of wanting a good time.

And she looks now, looks at the way Stiles' breaths are shaky and labored, but his hands are steady, even as he brings flames appear out of nowhere and presses it against Derek's bullet wounds. She looks at the way Derek has his forehead pressed against Stiles', and how he moves his head to Stiles' neck at the precise moments that the fire touches his skin. Like he's done this before, knows how to keep his pain between him and Stiles. She looks at the way Stiles' other hand, still bloody, tangles in Derek's hair, comforts him, like he's the only comfort Derek needs in this world.

She looks at the way Derek's body heals, like even his body is used to being hurt like this.

"It all makes sense," Peter's voice brings her out of her thoughts, and she turns to look at him. He's vibrating with excitement. "The way they talk—the way they behave—it all makes sense!"

Laura doesn't want to know. She doesn't want to know how this much blood and death and crying and confusion could ever make sense.

But if knowing is the answer to ease the burden on Stiles' and Derek's shoulders, she'll take it. She will know.

[when-they-write-stuff]

-

Stiles thought the best way to end things was to never let them start in the first place. 

That’s what his case seemed to be anyway.

See, if something started, it had to end. Stiles had learned that the hard way over and over again during his life. His mom’s sickness came and didn’t go away until it had stripped her from him in every way possible. Then he’d been thrust into the chaotic world of werewolves, banshees, and hunters, and he was pretty sure it was all going to end with his inevitable doom.

Things always came to an end one way or another. So eventually, Stiles had decided it was easier to just never let them start.

That began with the case of Lydia Martin.

Stiles’s mom used to tell him that if he put his mind to something, there was nothing that could stand in his way. Of course, that hadn’t worked when she’d gotten sick and he’d decided there was no way she could ever die. Fate couldn’t be that cruel. Stiles had told himself one day that parents couldn’t die and fully believed afterward, that if he set his mind to that fact, she’d live forever.

That changed the day of the funeral. Not before, not even when he’d been alone in the hospital and the heart monitor had gone flat. No, it’d taken him a lot longer than that to realize she was gone and… and parents could die.

People could in general.

The next thing he set his mind to was Lydia Martin. There was something about sharp green eyes and the way she looked when solving a problem that made him think maybe, maybe, this was what his mom had meant. That some things were just meant to be.

Stiles was ten when he set his mind to Lydia Martin. 

He was sixteen when she set her own to Jackson Whittemore.

Or maybe, he thought, it was less of her mind and more of her heart. And that’s what really mattered, wasn’t it?

Seventeen-year-old Stiles ended up being determined. Not in any way particular anymore, no. He was determined in general; determined to survive, determined to get through the rest of his teenage years without becoming werewolf chow or prey to whatever else Beacon Hills brought. 

It all started with the case of Lydia Martin. It ended that way too. 

And honestly, Stiles didn’t think it was all bad, necessarily. He was the sidekick, the token human. He had this baseball bat, a can of wolfsbane pepper spray, and his trusty jeep. Stiles Stilinski was the kid in the red hoodie, where it was darker in certain spots from bloodstains that never fully washed away. Things didn’t need to start with him, because they had already begun with the people who actually mattered.

But then there was the matter of Derek Hale.

The first time Stiles had run into the werewolf in the middle of the woods, his brain had gone nope, scary, bad. There was something about Derek that Stiles couldn’t put his finger on. The man scared him half to death for the entirety of his freshman year and then one day, Stiles realized he wasn’t afraid of him anymore.

Derek Hale was difficult to figure out. When Stiles was faced with a problem, he liked to take his time. Figure it out. 

With his mom, it had been something involving hope. See, Stiles had known she was sick. He wasn’t young enough to think that couldn’t happen. But he didn’t quite put it all together until after weeks of watching the nurses move in and out of his mom’s hospital room, with their notepads and checklists that he could never make out the words of.

One of the nurses gave him his own pad and red-inked pen one day. She told him to draw whatever he wanted, as if sitting in the same chair for hours on end wasn’t healthy. Looking back now, Stiles supposed maybe it wasn’t.

That was probably the first time he’d tried to solve a puzzle like the adults did. He’d always sucked at drawing anyway.

Red was unsolved. 

Stiles still owned that red pen.

For Lydia Martin, Stiles tried to step up his game. He made this ten-year plan that was destined to go right. The more details, the better, he thought. Except maybe ten years wasn’t enough, or maybe he’d skipped over some important step, because it never ended up happening. 

Stiles bought the whiteboard when werewolves became a thing. A whiteboard with red string, yellow string, and green. Then at some point, there was blue too. Stiles couldn’t really remember when that happened.

It kind of snuck up on him. Like the matter of Derek Hale.

Oh— fucking Derek Hale.

Things started to end when fucking Derek Hale kissed him.

-

Stiles couldn’t exactly remember what had put Derek in a bad mood, but the man had been stomping around for weeks with an expression that constantly promised murder. Stiles supposed if he was smart, he would have stuck with the rest of the pack and avoided the man like the plague, but Stiles never claimed to be smart.

Clever, sometimes. But not smart. Not often, at least.

Erica thought his bad mood was caused by the last threat they faced; a rather bloodthirsty hunter who had shot Derek in the chest. It’d taken the man three days to fully heal, so Stiles thought that was possible.

But he could never get a good read on the werewolf, okay? Red was unsolvable. Derek was unsolvable. The man was like a riddle Stiles hadn’t been able to solve and no matter what angle he looked at the werewolf from, he hadn’t been able to figure Derek Hale out.

Not yet, at least.

And then there was the argument.

To be fair, Stiles didn’t argue with Derek as often as he did someone like Jackson. Sure, he often drove Derek to flash red eyes or occasionally threaten to rip his head off, but that was just their relationship. Stiles drove him crazy and when Lydia gave him that knowing look, he pretended the man didn’t exist until their next ‘I’ll rip your throat out’ type of conversation.

But this time was different. This time, Stiles had almost— only almost though— gotten himself ripped apart by a rogue omega. And then Derek was red-eyed right from the beginning.

And Stiles sometimes had a tendency to push.

“I’m just saying,” he said, crossing his arms to Derek’s rather murderous expression. “If I were any one of the other pack members, you would have clapped me on the back for taking the omega out.”

“You nearly got yourself killed, Stiles,” Derek growled. “You were stupid and reckless, and you put yourself and the pack in danger!”

“I have a baseball bat for a reason, asshole! I can take care of myself!”

The man looked livid, the red in his eyes not even close to the minor turn-on that Stiles sometimes found it to be. But it wasn’t like any of this was his fault, really. Sure, he’d gotten a little scratched up, but it wasn’t like the rest of the pack had gotten off scott-free. Stiles had seen his chance and he’d taken it, knocking the omega right out with his recently upgraded steel baseball bat.

If anything Derek should be thanking him, not flipping out.

“It’s just because I’m human,” Stiles said hotly. Derek growled again.

“It’s not just that.”

“Then what else is it, Derek? All my limbs are still intact and there’s still life in this token human’s lungs, so I think that counts as a win! The omega was about to rip Isaac’s throat out anyway, so I did a good thing!”

“You did a stupid thing.”

Stiles drew back, seething. It wasn’t like this was the first time Derek had chewed him out for doing something ‘irresponsible’ or ‘stupid’ but usually Scott was around to keep one of them from committing murder. The loft was empty this time, though, the rest of the pack having gone out to celebrate while Derek had all but forced Stiles back to the loft to take a look at his injures.

Which were scratches. Stiles got worse at lacrosse practice.

“Whatever,” he said, turning away. “I’m going to meet up with the rest of the pack. Scott said he’d buy me fries for being a badass. Which I was, asshole.”

“Dammit, Stiles!”

Stiles clenched his jaw and spun back around. The red had faded a little from Derek’s eyes, but he still looked murderous. And wouldn’t that be unfortunate it Stiles had survived being torn to shreds only to have his throat ripped out by Derek Hale?

“I just—” The man took a step forward and then grimaced, folding his arms over his chest again. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“But just me.”

“The others can heal.”

“Allison can’t.”

Derek’s eyes flashed. “Allison is a hunter. She’s had training.”

“I have a baseball bat!”

“That is not—” Derek glared. “That’s not good enough. You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re a giant ass!”

Derek growled again, uncrossing his arms. And if Stiles was being honest, he wasn’t sure how one thing turned to another. But one moment, he was pretty sure he could punch the man out, stepping forward and lifting his chin, and then Derek was yanking him even closer, kissing him hard before Stiles could even react.

Derek was kissing him. Derek Hale was kissing him.

Stiles was pretty sure his brain short-circuited for a second, but he probably wouldn’t have pulled away even if it hadn’t. And he’d totally blame that for the moment it took him to respond, because Stiles had been so sure one of them was going to murder the other. Not… this.

Though, he would happily let this be how he died.

Yeah, this could be how he died.

Derek’s nipped sharply at his lower lip and Stiles groaned, his brain coming back online slowly. If he would have known this would happen when they really argued, he would have started picking fights with the werewolf a lot sooner. Though, maybe it was all built up over time. The man kissed him like they were still arguing, the one way Stiles couldn’t mouth off to win the fight.

He could be okay with that, though.

Stiles was still dazed with Derek eventually pulled back a few inches, the man’s breaths warm against his skin. He wasn’t the only one panting, Stiles realized, his own heart thudding like a drum against his chest.

For a moment, they both just stood there. And for the first time that night, Stiles’s mind was completely empty. And it was nice, in a strange way. Like he’d been drugged.

Then Stiles blinked a few times and stared. Except Derek wasn’t even looking back at him.

The man avoided his gaze like Stiles wasn’t there, posture rigid with his arms folded over his chest again. Like that was the only defense he had against Stiles and the few inches between them. Stiles’s brain didn’t even have a chance to catch up before Derek’s voice broke the silence— low and shaky.

“You should go.”

And just like that, the haze was gone. Stiles stiffened, staring incredulously at the man, but Derek definitely wasn't meeting his gaze. “I should… what?”

“You should go, Stiles.”

Stiles stared. Slowly, a lump formed in his throat.

Because this was what happened, right? Something started, something ended. Stiles stood rooted to the spot for another long moment, feeling like he’d just taken a blow, until Derek fixed him with one of those red-eyed looks. And Stiles didn’t even know how to categorize it. The man’s face was carefully blank. He didn’t look mad, repulsed, or even regretful. He just looked—

Stiles blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. Nodding silently, he turned away, starting toward the loft door. And despite it all, some part of him thought Derek might call his name before he reached it. Or at least say something. Anything.

But the man didn’t. And Stiles didn’t glance back.

Going after the omega earlier hadn’t been the stupid move, he realized. No, it hadn’t even been close.

But this?

This was the dumbest thing he’d ever done.

-

Fuck Derek Hale.

That’s what Stiles would like to say. Fuck Derek Hale and the radio silence that stretched on for two months after that one night. 

Stiles used to secretly look forward to the few nights a week when his window would be shoved up and Derek would pull himself through, always with some excuse about the monster of the week or research. But the only time Stiles had seen the man since had been during pack meetings and he could’ve sworn that Derek was keeping as much distance between them as possible, never saying a direct word to Stiles unless he had to.

It made him feel… dirty, almost. Wrong. If he could go back and keep that night from happening, Stiles would, because that’s where it all went wrong. That’s where it all went wrong, right? It’s not like it had been a long time coming or anything.

He hadn’t— Stiles didn’t— dammit.

Fuck Derek Hale.

The way Stiles saw it, if Derek was going to go around pretending he didn’t exist, then he was going to do the exact same. That started with completely ignoring the werewolf at each pack meeting and then Stiles started skipping them in general, getting the information through Scott. The boy seemed beyond confused but Stiles refused to give his reasoning for pretending Derek didn’t exist.

The Alpha was an asshole, was all he’d say. And then Lydia would give him one of those knowing looks.

Stiles really hated the pack sometimes.

He did his best not to think about it had felt when Derek had kissed him, or the way the man had tugged at his hair, bit down on his bottom lip, and how that feeling was literally imprinted into his brain. He didn’t look at his window and wonder what the hell was so wrong with kissing him— what was so wrong with wanting him?

So Stiles stopped going to pack meetings. And when the betas started following him around school asking questions, he pretended he had no idea what they were talking about.

One month passed without Stiles seeing Derek. And he was fine.

Then the next monster of the week came to town and there was a knock at his window. 

When Stiles glanced up from his laptop to see Derek crouching on the roof, he stared for a long moment before completely ignoring the man. It wasn’t like Derek to knock; he used to just let himself in, sometimes already waiting in Stiles’s room when he came back from lacrosse practice. And yeah, Stiles had always complained. It was creepy after all. 

But it was also Derek.

A few seconds passed before his window was pushed up and Derek pulled himself into the bedroom. Stiles kept his gaze firmly on his computer screen.

Derek had to be insane if he thought he was getting any research help.

“Stiles—”

“No.”

Derek went silent for a moment. On Stiles’s computer, his movie continued to play, and he continued to be watching it. 

Then, “Stiles, the pack needs your help.”

“The pack?”

One more moment of silence, followed by; “I need your help.”

Stiles finally hit pause, glancing up at the Alpha coldly. He did his best to ignore the way his heart twisted at the sight of Derek, because Stiles didn’t care. He could’ve gone another long month— he could have gone two. And why the hell was Derek here, anyway? Stiles wasn’t the only one who knew how to use a computer. “Go ask Lydia.”

Derek’s expression did something strange. “Lydia?”

“She’s a genius, you know.”

“I don’t— the pack doesn’t—” Derek blinked, then clenched his jaw. For a moment, the man actually looked frustrated. “I need your help, Stiles, not hers.”

“Sorry,” Stiles said, gesturing to his computer. “I’m busy.”

He told himself he didn’t take a little bit of pleasure in the way that Derek’s face tightened. But the man was definitely looking frustrated now and honestly? he shouldn’t have expected this visit to go any differently.

“There’s something ripping apart animals in the preserve,” Derek said through gritted teeth. Stiles shrugged.

“A mountain lion?”

“Stiles.”

“Or maybe it’s a bear.”

“Stiles.”

“What, Derek?” Stiles said, shutting his computer harder than he meant to. But the man’s tone was nothing but angry now and he was looking at Stiles like this was his fault. Like it hadn’t been three months of absolutely no contact and Derek hadn’t kissed him before literally throwing him out of the loft like week-old trash.

It made Stiles feel dirty. Yeah, that’s what it was.

And he couldn’t figure out why.

“I don’t want you here,” Stiles said, dropping his gaze. He hated himself a bit for how small his voice sounded. “I don’t want you here, Derek.”

The silence continued to reign. And when Stiles glanced back up, Derek was just looking at him. Silently, blankly. Just like that one night, Stiles couldn’t read his expression.

He swallowed hard at the memory. “I’m done, Derek. This— all of it— we’re done.”

There was a flicker of red in the man’s eyes. And Stiles had thought that telling him off, sending him away, would be a victorious moment. He’d felt so crappy after being the one kicked out first, that he thought it’d make him feel better to be the one sending Derek away this time.

But it really didn't.

“Do the research yourself,” Stiles said, opening his laptop back up and clicking the play button of his movie. “Or ask someone else to do it.”

He didn’t get an answer. But Stiles just locked his gaze on his computer screen and waited a few long minutes before he dared to glance back up again.

And when he did, Derek was gone and his window was still open.

-

Stiles was mad. 

He was mad, he was hurt, and he was so freaking confused, it was starting to affect his sleep. His day-to-day life. Scott kept him updated on the comings and goings of the pack and Stiles got even madder, even though he couldn’t explain it.

Then at some point, after he’d stopped keeping track of how long it had been since that night, he decided he was done. Done being so pissed at fucking Derek Hale.

He showed up to the next pack meeting and Derek looked so surprised, Stiles couldn’t help but feel a little bit smug. He was thrumming out of his skin a little bit, but tried to act like it was the complete opposite, letting the betas practically bowl him over as fingers traced along the back of his neck and Derek continued to stare.

The man only broke his gaze when Lydia snapped fingers in front of his face. And he gave her a red-eyed look at that.

Stiles stuck next to Scott’s side and kept his gaze anywhere but Derek.

He thought everything could have gone worse.

By the time the pizza was gone, the betas were still moaning about how hungry they were, only to get a twenty from Derek and a growled ‘get out’, Stiles felt a little less nervous. Scott had one arm slung over Allison’s shoulder with plans to hang out after, even as he asked Stiles sheepishly if he wanted to tag along.

Stiles had been the third wheel for long enough to know he really didn’t want to be around when they decided to hang out this late on a weekend.

“Come with us, Batman,” Erica said, latching onto his arm. Stiles snorted.

“And wind up paying for dessert when you three eat through twenty dollars of pizza in five minutes? No thank you.”

The girl pouted, giving him a batted-eyes look, but Stiles shrugged her off.

“Nope, I’ve got homework,” he said. “And my own fridge at home where werewolves with infinite appetites won’t eat all my food.”

“You can’t do homework on a Friday,” Isaac said. “That’s so lame.”

“You’re so lame.”

“Great response, Stilinski,” Jackson said, sneering. Stiles just smirked back.

“Whatever, lizard boy.”

Lydia gave him a sharp look, grabbing Jackon’s arm and pulling him toward the door before the beta could say anything back. Stiles rolled his eyes, letting Erica grab his arm again as she started to drag him after them, but then someone cleared their throat behind him.

Erica let go in a second. Stiles froze, slowly turning around to see Derek standing near the table with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“I need Stiles to stay.”

Stiles’s heart skipped a beat and he cursed silently. “Actually, I’ve really got to—”

“It’s fine,” Boyd said, cutting him off. Stiles shot the beta a venomous look, but Boyd pointedly avoided Stiles’s glare. “Stiles can catch up.”

“Or, I could just—”

“Stiles,” Derek said. Stiles looked back at him reluctantly, but the man’s expression really wasn't as threatening as he’d expected. If anything, he looked a little pleading.

Words stuck in Stiles’s throat, so he just nodded, dropping his gaze again. And Erica traced fingers over the back of his neck one more time before the betas followed Jackson and Lydia out the loft door.

Silence fell over the room. Stiles swallowed hard and slowly raised his eyes. “What?”

“I was surprised to see you here tonight.”

“I’m still a part of the pack,” Stiles said. Derek looked surprised.

“Of course.”

“So you shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I just thought that after last time—”

“Oh hell, no,” Stiles said, stalking forward. All the anger he’d felt before came rising back up at Derek’s words and he jabbed a finger into the man’s chest, making Derek stiffen even more. “You don’t get to pull that card. It’s all so shitty, Derek, you know that? These past few months have been so shitty.”

Derek just looked down at Stiles’s finger, as if he was surprised at something. At the reaction, at Stiles’s anger, whatever. 

Stiles was still pissed.

“I know you don’t like to talk,” Stiles said. “I know you’re the big bad Alpha werewolf who doesn’t need anyone but himself and especially doesn’t need the token human. But you kissed me, asshole. You kissed me and kicked me out, and do you even know how fucked up that is?”

Derek’s gaze finally traveled back up to Stiles’s face. His hands were still stuffed into his pockets and Stiles didn’t know if that was better or worse than when the man would keep his arms barricaded over his chest.

“If it was a mistake, fine,” Stiles said. “But you should have told me.”

“Stiles, it wasn’t… I don’t…”

The man sucked at talking. Stiles could accept that. But as Derek trailed off, he thought he might go crazy if he had to leave the loft again without any answers.

Derek was still saying half sentences. Biting back a curse, Stiles surged forward.

The first time Derek had kissed him, Stiles .exe had completely stopped working. He didn’t quite get that reaction with Derek this time, but the man definitely froze for a moment. And Stiles figured this could go two ways. Derek could kick him out of the loft with reason this time, or the absolute whirlwind that Stiles had been going through these past few months would finally stop.

He kissed Derek hard and hungry, and it was so much different than last time.

Then the man was kissing him too. The hands that had been stuck in his pockets moved down Stiles’s sides, down his thighs, and then Derek was picking him up, turning away from the loft door and heading toward the couch.

So it’s option two, Stiles thought hazily. 

Thank fucking god.

Derek lowered him onto the cushions and drew back a few inches, green eyes searching Stiles’s face. And for some reason, Stiles was terrified again for a moment. Because things always started and things always stopped but god, he didn’t want this to stop.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Derek said softly. “You’re not a mistake.”

Stiles held his gaze, almost waiting for the ‘but’. Except it never came, Derek hesitated for another moment, some unreadable expression flickering across his face.

“Is this okay?”

Was this okay? 

Stiles could have laughed for a moment. Some sharp, shocked laugh. Because fuck, if this wasn’t more than okay. Everything leading up to it sucked, yeah, and some part of Stiles wanted to chew Derek out. But another wanted to make sure that the constipated idiot knew that he was okay, this was okay, it was okay.

“Dammit, Sourwolf,” Stiles breathed out. “It’s okay.”

Derek’s eyes flickered red. And Stiles nearly choked on his own breath as the smallest hint of a smile tugged at the Alpha’s lips. One he’d never seen before— soft, almost a little nervous.

Yeah, this was more than okay.

Because red was unsolvable, right? And Stiles was pretty sure he was still figuring Derek Hale out. But this didn’t seem like it would end anytime soon.

And the first time in a long time, Stiles set his mind to something new.

Or, maybe his heart.

-

Tagging @roricomplex​ for the amazing prompt, I hope it turned out okay! I had a ton of fun with this one, thanks for sending a number <3

(if you enjoy my writing, consider sending a coffee? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

[scripts4dreamers]

I literally JUST sat down, pt.3

Part One, Part Two, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

AN: The case stalls, but no one’s willing to give up on you just yet. Characters: Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi. Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

(Longer one this time! As always, let me know if you want to get tagged in the next part.)

—————————-

“I hate this,” you whined, as Garcia pulled you through the crowded streets, “why didn’t we drive straight to the office, again?”

“Because, my little Grumpy Gus, you look like you barely slept, and this place has the best coffee in the city.” She promised, giving your arm a squeeze.

You grumbled under your breath, but didn’t complain, letting Garcia ply you with endless cups of coffee.

“Are we getting for the whole team?” You asked, your mind drifting to your late night message to Spencer.

Garcia paused, her eyes narrowing with suspicion, “Yeeeeees, why?”

You shrugged, “I was just asking. No need to read into anything.”

“This is about Spencer, I can tell. Spill it.”

You groaned, letting your head thump down onto the table, “How do you do that?”

“I’m a veritable fountain of knowledge, Y/N, you know this,” she teased, “plus I speak fluent Y/N, especially the little known Spencer Reid dialect.”

“Witch!” You said accusingly, “You’re a witch!”

“You flatter me,” she winked, tapping your forearm, “now spill it.”

You sighed, taking another sip of your coffee, “It’s nothing, I just-I messaged him, alright?”

“You did what?”

“I messaged him! And it was stupid and he didn’t even respond, so it’s not important.” You explained, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Penelope gasped, “He didn’t respond?”

You shook your head, “Nope. Nothing, look-“

You took out your phone and glanced briefly at the screen, frowning when you spotted the notification from the night before. You swiped up, your eyes tracing his response. Something in your stomach pinched.

“Huh.”

“What?” Penelope asked, “What is it? You’re legally obligated to tell me, it’s in the rules.”

“He-uh-“ you stared at the screen, still frowning, “he responded. I must’ve fallen asleep…”

“Ooohhh my gosh, what does it say? What did you say? Is it romantic?”

You pressed your lips together, your mind whirling at a thousand miles an hour as you try to figure exactly what Spencer meant by “I did.”.

“It’s-“ you shook your head, “I don’t know really.”

Something in your tone must’ve let on how conflicted you were feeling because Penelope let the matter slide, just giving your arm a comforting squeeze.

“Let’s get to work, Sugar,” she said, standing and extending her hand for you to hold, “we’ve got crimes to solve.”

You gave her a weak smile but let her pull you to your feet, trying to force your mind away from Spencer and back onto your case.

“That we do, Garcia, that we do.”

——————————-

“We come bearing gifts,” Garcia announced as she pushed open the door to the BAU, “sustenance in the form of sweet, sweet caffeine.”

Your eyes instantly flew to Spencer, giving him a weak smile which, to your intense relief, he returned. You also noticed, with a rush of fondness, that he’d kept your side of the desk clear.

“Garcia you’re an angel,” Emily smiled, pushing away from her desk to accept a cup.

“Speaking of angels,” you sighed, carrying a cup of coffee flavored sugar over to Spencer and taking your seat next to him, “have we got an ID on our victim yet?”

“Marcus Wilcox,” Spencer said, flipping open the file closest to you, “25 year old drug addict and male prostitute. He went missing two weeks ago and was reported missing by his best friend.”

You glanced over at the picture of the man whose body had been left in your bookstore and felt the familiar pang of sorrow in your chest. There was always going to be another one, another life cut short, another dead son or daughter who’s family would grieve their loss for years. It was enough to put a damper on anyone’s morning.

You could feel eyes on you, heavy and questioning and you found you couldn’t look up to meet their gaze.

“Anything unusual in the M.E.’s report?” You asked, still avoiding the eyes.

“All the mutilation was done postmortem, so that rules out sadism as a motive,” JJ suggested, accepting a cup of coffee gratefully.

“High levels of caffeine in the blood too,” Emily pointed out, “and…” she pressed her lips together.

“What, Em?” You asked.

She looked up at you nervously, something like sympathy in her eyes as she said, “Biscuits, in his stomach. They found brown butter biscuits and coffee in his stomach.”

Your blood froze and you felt a rush of nausea. You put your cup down, suddenly not thirsty anymore.

“Is...that significant, somehow?” Hotch asked, his perpetual frown firmly in place.

“They’re the best sellers at Y/N’s coffee shop,” Spencer said, something off in his voice, “she sells them fresh every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.”

You looked over, shocked, and noticed that Spencer was working his jaw, like he was angry, his one hand curled into a fist under his chin. You itched to reach out and touch his forearm, like you once would have, but you restrained yourself.

“What the hell is this guy doing?” Emily asked, “Why go through all this trouble to personalize the crime? What’s driving him?”

“It’s gotta be erotomania, right?” Morgan asked, “Someone’s trying to get Y/N’s attention.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” you insisted, frustrated with having the same conversation again and again, “stalkers don’t start off with an elaborate and expertly executed murder. If it was erotomania, why not call first, or email or leave notes at my apartment? There’s been no build up to this sort of violence.”

“Plus, the victim has no connection to Y/N,” Spencer pointed out, “erotomaniacs want to reinforce their supposed devotion to the object of their affection, if he wanted to do that he would’ve picked someone Y/N knew, like an ex-boyfriend or an enemy of some kind.”

“Some who he thinks Y/N would actually want dead,” Emily agreed.

“Reid and Y/L/N are right, there’s something more to this, something we’ve missed,” Hotch said, “Garcia, I want you to go through everything you can find about Marcus Wilcox and see if he came into Y/N’s store at all. Maybe he’s a customer who was rude and offended the UnSub. After that, comb through Y/L/N’s life again; old friends, high school classmates, college professors, agents she worked with on cases, anyone who could have formed an attachment and been stalking her without us knowing.”

Garcia paled under her Barbie pink lipstick, “Sir, I-“

“It’s fine, Garcia,” you assured, giving her a soft smile, “I’ve got nothing to hide. You’ll have to get permission from the CIA to access some of my case files though, there’s some sensitive data in those.”

“I’ll call the director myself,” Hotch said, “that’ll expedite the process.”

“But, sir, sorting through all that data could take weeks,” you pointed out, “what do we do in the meantime?”

Hotch pressed his lips together, and you sighed, sensing his next words before they even came out of his mouth.

“We work cases, as usual,” he said, “Y/N, yours will still be our priority but, until we get a new lead…”

“We’re stuck.” You finished. You breathed in, trying to calm your restless nerves, and pushed yourself up, “Well, it was lovely seeing you guys again, but I guess that’s my cue.”

“What?” Spencer said, sitting up suddenly, “No, Y/N you can’t just leave, if there’s someone out there delusional enough to do this to get your attention then it’s not safe.”

“I’m with Boy Wonder,” Garcia agreed, shooting you an apologetic look, “I’m sorry, Sugar Plum but this whole thing is just icky and gross and I’d feel much better knowing you were here.”

You looked around, but we’re met with a wall of concerned faces. You wanted to scream. Nothing about this situation was fair. You hated feeling helpless, it was why you’d joined the FBI in the first place and, ultimately, why you’d left.

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do while we wait for a lead?” You asked, “I can’t go home, I can’t go back to work, I can’t just sit here all day until my assigned babysitter for the night is free.”

“You could join us on cases,” Hotch said simply, “if I’m not mistaken, you’re still officially an agent so you’re cleared to be in the field.”

Spencer and Emily sucked in a breath in unison, and you shut your eyes. Shit.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Emily asked, “You never actually resigned?”

You shot her a sheepish look, “I meant to! I did! It was just,” you shrugged, “at first I wanted the safety blanket in case normal life didn’t work out and, once it did, I just-“ you trailed off.

Truth be told, you didn’t know why you’d never left. It was really only one document that you needed to sign, it would take less than three minutes to complete, there was nothing stopping you. You’d even filled it out once or twice but, for some reason, you always stopped before actually submitting it.

You shot a nervous look at Spencer, who was determinedly avoiding looking at anything except a particular patch of empty air, and sighed.

“So...what does that mean?” Morgan asked, “You’re back on the team?”

“Agent Y/L/N has technically been on an extended sabbatical for the past year,” Hotch explained, “ideally we would be able to keep her on in an advisory capacity while we work her case but, with her safety being such an issue, for the time being, yes, she’s back on the team.”

——————————-

You collapsed into your old seat on the jet, exhaustion weighing you down like a ton of bricks. It had taken almost no time for Hotch and Garcia to brief you on the team’s newest case and, before you could even pack a proper Go-Bag, you were wheels up and on your way to Tampa Bay. It was a fairly standard case, or as standard as it got for the BAU at least, and it had only taken three days to catch the guy, but it had still taken the life right out of you. Hotch had noticed your distress and sent you ahead to the jet with Rossi while the rest of the team finished packing up. On the one hand you resented being treated like a child, on the other….well, you were exhausted.

Rossi sat down across the aisle from you, handing you a mug of warm hot chocolate, which you accepted gratefully. He raised his eyebrows in that grandfatherly way, like he was asking you a question, and you smiled.

“What?” You asked, “I can tell you’re thinking something.”

“You love this” he said simply.

“Love it?” You laughed incredulously, “Rossi I haven’t been this tired since I spent three full days setting up my shop. I’m exhausted.”

“And you love it,” he insisted, “I can see that Evil Genius sparkle in those pretty eyes of yours.” He gestured at your face and you smiled, “Not that I blame you. Catching killers tends to be more exciting than baking cookies.”

“Hey, I thought you loved it when I made cookies!” You complained, whacking his hand away in mock outrage, “You said they were your favorite!”

“They are, I’m just making a simple observation, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” you said suspiciously.

“Here’s another one; there’s tension between you and the Good Doctor,” he continued.

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t disagree, letting your mind wander back to the last three days. After Hotch’s little announcement to the team, things had been...odd with Spencer. Actually, you couldn’t be sure that was the catalyst, for all you knew things could’ve been weird before that but, now it was just impossible to miss. He would bounce between avoiding you like the plague and actively seeking out your company; sitting next to you at dinner one minute and then purposely standing as far away as possible the next minute. It sucked. It sucked and it hurt your feelings and it was confusing, so there was no point in denying it to Rossi.

“I just wish he’d talk to me, you know?” You said, “Or yell, or shout or something. Like, if you’re angry then be angry. At least then we could talk it out, but this-“ you shook your head, “I hate it.”

“Ah, kid,” Rossi commiserated, patting your knee comfortingly, “I don’t think he’s angry, and that’s probably part of the problem.” You looked up, confused, and Rossi continued, “If he was angry, things would be a lot simpler. Like you said, you could just yell for a bit, and then it’d be over. No, I think Spencer’s just hurt and confused. He blames himself for you leaving and, now that you’re back, he’s happy, but he feels guilty about being happy because you’re in danger.” He explained, “It’s a confusing time for him, for you both.”

You sat up, “Wait why would he blame himself for me leaving?”

Rossi looked down, like he was thinking hard but, before he could say anything, you heard footsteps and the rest of your team boarded the jet. You shot Rossi a look that said “we’ll finish this later”, and then turned away, smiling at your friends.

“Hey,” you greeted, letting Morgan ruffle your hair.

JJ gave you a small smile, but your eyes went straight to Spencer, Rossi’s words bouncing around inside your head. To your surprise, he collapsed into the seat beside you.

“Hey,” he said softly, “I-uh-I was hoping we could talk.”

Your heart leapt, but you tried to keep your face neutral as you answered, “Sure thing, Reid. What about? The case?”

“Actually,” he said, his voice still low, “I wanted to talk about you.”

You pressed your lips together, but nodded, following Spencer’s lead and leaning in to avoid being overheard as your team settled in for the flight home.

Spencer was silent for a moment, like he was thinking, and then, “Why didn’t you resign? I thought you wanted out.”

“I did, or I thought I did. Reid, when I first left I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I guess I wanted to be able to come back if things went wrong.” You explained.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You paused for a moment, “Spence-“

His breath hitched in his throat, “The first time, when you were thinking about leaving. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-“ you sighed, the exhaustion rolling over you like a river, “I didn’t want to worry you until I was sure and then, after that….” you shrugged, “it all happened so fast. I’m sorry.”

He nodded, like he understood, and you watched some of the tension leech out of his body. For the first time he met your eye, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

“I’m sorry too.” He said.

“Spence you’ve got nothing to-“

“I do,” he interrupted, “I promised you that we’d always be best friends and then, after you left, I just stopped trying.”

You were conflicted. Some part of you had been longing to hear this for months, ever since the texts, visits and calls had stopped out of the blue but, now that you were actually hearing it, it just made you sad.

“You did try,” you reminded him, “you came to the store a few times, helped me organize my books.”

He shook his head, “Not often enough. It just-it just got so hard, you know? Seeing you every weekend and knowing you weren’t going to be there when I got to work the next day,” he explained, his voice cracking, “watching you have this whole life outside of us, it just started to feel like maybe I didn’t fit-maybe we didn’t fit.” He gestured to the team, “And I thought maybe you were better off-“ he trailed off.

“Hey,” you cut in, reaching out and covering his hand with yours, “hey, listen to me. You guys are my family. You’ll always be my family, no matter what happens. I’m sorry you ever felt like anything else was even possible. I could never be better off without you guys.”

The hint of a smile played at the edges of his mouth, and he squeezed your hand gently.

“If it’s okay,” he said, still smiling hopefully, “I’d really like for us to be friends again. I know I broke a solemn oath but, if you’ll trust me, I’ll never let it happen again, I promise.”

Your smile felt so wide that it hurt your cheeks as you pulled him into a hug, savoring the way he chuckled as he hugged you back.

“Of course, Spence,” you smiled, still holding him close, “of course.”

“God, I missed you,” he admitted into your neck, “no one else pretends to care about Star Trek as well as you do.”

You laughed and let him go, feeling the distance that had formed over the last year vanishing bit by bit.

“I’ve missed you too, Doctor Reid.” You said, “But, I’ll admit, I haven’t missed the Star Trek talk as much.”

“None of us miss the Star Trek talk,” Derek said, making you both jump, “honestly, I miss not knowing about Star Trek.”

“Preach,” JJ agreed, “Y/N/N, I know you’re in charge of what we watch tonight but I’m begging you, please pick something made for adults? I’ve been watching nothing but Marvel and Disney for months.”

“But I love Disney,” Emily complained.

“Rest assured,” Rossi interrupted, “it’s my entertainment system and I don’t even have any Disney.”

“You have Lord of The Rings though, right?” Spencer asked.

You watched your team bicker amongst themselves, laughing like you hadn’t laughed in months. Being together like this was like a healing balm for your frayed nerves, bringing you back to a place of calm, like you’d just come home from a long trip. In the back of your mind, you knew there was still work to be done, old wounds you needed to address and mysteries you needed to solve but, for now, you were just happy to be with your family. For now, this was enough.

—————————

Spencer felt like he was living in some sort of strange fever dream, like all his months of sulking had finally driven him mad and now he was physically imagining things as he helped you out of his car. Touching you always made him a little dizzy but, over the years that you’d worked together every day, he’d managed to build up a tolerance, a tolerance that was now almost completely gone. It had been months since everyone had agreed to have family dinner at Rossi’s, but now that you were back, he’d insisted. Spencer was on cloud nine. He had his best friend back and, for the first time since you’d left, things felt good again, like he was exactly where he should be.

As you sat around Rossi’s table, swapping stories and reminiscing over the past, Spencer had to fight to stop from staring at you. You were really there. He could reach out and touch you. If he called your name you would respond and your eyes would light up the way they always had, like he was the only person in the world you wanted to see. It was surreal. In the back of his mind, Spencer knew he was being selfish, that he shouldn’t want you to stay this time and he should be itching to find out who was stalking you so that you could go back to the life you’d built. But he wasn’t.

When JJ had gotten the call that you needed them, Spencer had thought his heart was going to implode from all the pent up longing he’d kept stored away. Seeing you hadn’t exactly improved things. He’d spent the entire day trying to hold himself together, unsure of how to act around you, playing through every single memory he’d been keeping repressed for all this time like it would somehow give him the answer. God, half the time he’d wanted to scream, the other half he’d wanted to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go ever again. As his eyes traced the plains of your face, plains he’d memorized a million different times, he felt a flicker of that old flame burn in his chest, like the embers of a fire that had never really been put out, and he sighed.

“Hey, kid, where’s your head?” Morgan asked, his voice soft enough to avoid being overheard.

“Hmm? What?” Spencer replied, tearing his eyes away from you as you laughed at something Garcia said.

“Your head,” he repeated, where’s it at?”

Spencer thought for a minute, and then smiled, “I’m good. Really good, actually.”

Morgan nodded, a little too knowingly for Spencer’s liking, but let the matter drop. Just then, the unmistakable ping of Hotch’s cell cut through the late night air and, as if on cue, every eye in the house turned to face the sound. Hotch examined his phone, his frown deepening and sending shivers of worry up Spencer’s neck. He wanted to say something, to stop Hotch from giving them whatever horrible piece of news was on that phone, but he couldn’t. He just sat and waited, like everybody else.

“Hotch?” JJ eventually asked, her hand gripping yours, hard.

“They-uh-” Hotch started, showing a rare moment of nerves, “they found another note at Y/N’s apartment.”

Several people swore, Garcia whimpered, Derek slammed his fist against the table, but you just stared straight ahead, your face stony and unmoving. Spencer wanted to reach out, but he was frozen in place.

“What did it say?” You asked, “Is it another love poem?”

“No,” Hotch answered, “it’s a string of numbers; 29.07.15/18.01.14/38.8765.77.0006.”

“Reid, you got that?” Morgan asked, shooting him a look.

Spencer felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, but he nodded, “I’ve got it.”

“But, that’s not all, is it?” Rossi asked.

Hotch shook his head, “They found another body. This time in an empty storefront a few blocks away from Y/N’s apartment.”

“Probably the site I’d picked out for the second branch,” you supplied, “I just signed the deal three weeks ago.”

You buried your face in your hands, sighing as the atmosphere around the dinner table took a turn for the worst.

“Well,” Emily said, “Looks like we’ve got our lead.”

Hotch nodded, “Let’s get to work.”

-----------------------------

Taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes​, @confused-and-really-hungry, @word-scribbless​, @reidloversisforever​, @ashookykooky​, @l0ve-0f-my-life​, @shilohpug​, @tangerinenotions95​, @petitchatonbleu, @pirateismywayofspeaking​, @must-be-a-weasley-92​, @whovianayesha, @holding-on-to-my-youth​

[gwendolyn02]

For Him - Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary:  Reader would do anything for Spencer to be happy even if she doesn’t think her feelings are reciprocated, and when Maeve’s life is on the line she proves that. Plus reader and Spencer are able to talk effortlessly and have a deep connection not Maeve and Spencer. Also kind of inspired/based on Yellow by Coldplay

Word Count: 1985

Content Warning: Blood, guns you know normal criminal mind things :/

A/N: This is my very first fanfic I have ever written. I don’t really know what i should put as warnings and such so I’m winging it along with all of this. Also I don’t know what to classify this but I’d guess angst with a happy ending. Like I said this is my first fanfic so bear with me. I also did not proof read this because I was so excited to post it so it might have spelling or grammatical errors.

--------------------

Spencer and you have been the best of friends since a month after you joined the team, and you’ve had feelings for him just as long, little did you know the feelings were mutual. The whole team could see the longing looks when the other wasn’t looking, they even have a bet of when you guys would get together. You were always there for each other comforting and consoling the other when a case hit a little too close to home for either of you. You’d distract yourselves if you didn’t want to talk about why a case had upset you; You’d read to each other, watch Doctor Who, play chess, or even go on walks late at night to look at the stars.

When Emily “died” Spencer would come to your apartment crying his eyes out and you stayed strong for him as he has had so many people leave him, he needed comforting more than you, and that made your heart ache even more. You decided to take him to your couch, lay his head on your lap, and run your hands through his hair. It would calm him so much that he’d fall asleep. He looks so peaceful well he slept with his head on your legs you couldn’t help yourself to lean down and kiss him on his forehead and whisper, “Do you know, you know I love you so.”

It’s been a while since then, Emily is alive and in London, and everyone has gone back to normal, well everyone except for everyone’s favorite genius. He was happier than normal, but also more secretive. The team thought that you guys must have finally started dating until one day you came in to work looking a little down, and your longing looks towards Spencer also had pain in your eyes. That was the day after you found out about her. You were having one of your normal hang outs with Spence when you noticed he was spacing out a lot and he had this look in his eyes, a look you knew well. It was the same look you’d get when you thought about him. You didn’t like it, you almost denied it but you had to ask him if your suspicions were right.

“Who is she?” you blurted out. He jumped your sudden outburst blush started to creep up his neck.

“Who is who?” he asked hesitantly.

“Spencer I’m not stupid. You've been extra happy and more secretive lately, and you were just spacing out with a smile on your face. You never space out when we’re watching Doctor Who. So, there is only one reason, you’re seeing someone. What’s her name?” you ask hoping he’ll deny it meaning it’s not too serious or that you were somehow wrong.

He’s hesitant but he says, “Maeve, her name is Maeve.” Your heart drops at this, and you tell him your happy for him. You were happy it was getting late so it wasn’t suspicious when you said you were heading home after that episode. As soon as you closed your apartment door behind you, you leaned against sliding down to a sitting position finally letting your tears fall.

When he walked in late the day after that wearing your favorite outfit of his you realized you couldn't go through with your original plan of slowly distancing yourself from him even if you wanted to, because his happiness was more important to you than your shattered heart. So, you continued to be his best friend even if it ripped out your heart every day and you now had to listen to him gush over her.

It was all good until one day at work he told everyone about her and how he was sure she was missing and how because of that he couldn’t focus on anything for more than four seconds making him the dumbest person in the room and needing the team and your help. You have never seen him like that, it hurt you in more way than one, he loves her, it's clear in his voice cracks along with how much pain he is in, and at that moment you promised yourself you’ll do anything to bring her back to him alive.

*Time Skip to outside Diane’s loft*

Diane knew your feeling for him, and that you’re his best friend, how she found out your unsure, but she did, and she wanted you both there. If you had to guess it was to raise the stakes for Spencer.

“Take your guns and vests off.”

You and Spencer followed her orders.

“Now just you two come in.”

You guys got to the top of the stairs and she opens the door with gun in hand, “Put the blindfold on him and lead him to the chair,” Diane says to you. You do so very carefully as she has her gun pushed into your back as she follows you.

Spencer asks if he can take the blindfold off and gets told no. He and Maeve swap hellos as Diane is putting her hand down Spencer’s shirt and complimenting in his brain and looks until he mentions her thesis, as you watch a little confused on what you're supposed to be doing so you start to mouth to Maeve that everything will be okay.

Spencer is trying to trick her into thinking her thesis is valuable enough to keep her save and out of jail, as you are trying to run through all possible outcomes of this situation in your head. He is trying to convince her he loves her not Maeve, and to let Maeve live with her irrelevancy. She makes sure to make Spencer say he doesn’t love you too, which confuses you, he doesn’t love me anyways you think, but he hesitates for a quick second and you and Maeve catch it but somehow Diane doesn’t. She then kisses Spencer and when he doesn’t reciprocate, she knows he’s lying. He grabs her gun and it fires into the air and then Spencer’s arm, it happened so fast you weren’t able to help him in fact you were knocked onto the ground. The rest of the team was in the room now as you hear Spencer repeatedly saying to stay back. Your standing back up when Spencer is telling her, “There is still a way out of this. Diane, I offered you a deal and you can still take it. M-”

“Me for her,” you interrupt him.  

“Why should I do that?” she asked.

“Because he hesitated in saying he didn’t love me, if you kill her you wouldn’t kill who he truly loves. You’d still have the real competition for him left,” you lie for the second half of this, but you aren’t looking at Spencer whose eyes got even wider in fear as what you were saying was actually true, and Diane sees that and aims her gun towards you. As she does that the team all have their guns pointed at her head. You hear two guns go off and Spencer screaming “WAIT!” you and Diane are on the ground now. Your stomach was gushing out blood. Diane his down a few feet away from you a bullet hole right between her eyes. Spencer rushes over to you and applies pressure to your wound as he tells the others they need medics, now, your vision as blurring and everything you hear is incoherent. Then everything goes black.

You hear movement around you and even though your eyes are closed you can see how bright the lights are in the room you’re in. You open your drowsy eyes to see Spencer pacing the room, he seems to be a mixture of worried, nervous, and stressed. It also looks like he’d been pulling at his hair some too.

“Hey Spence,” you croaked out. He immediately turns to you and lets out a sigh of relieve.

“Y/N, you’re awake, thank goodness. How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Like I’ve just been shot, but other than that perfectly fine,” you chuckle. He doesn’t laugh back, instead he gives you a very stern look.

“Why’d you do it Y/N, why’d did you trade yourself for her?” he questions. You look up at him and think what the hell, might as well tell him the truth.

“Do you know Spence I’d do anything for you, I’d even bleed myself dry,” you tell him in all honesty. He looks at you completely flabbergasted. Then he flushes pink and looks extremely nervous.

“There’s uh... something I need to tell you,” he mumbles and you look at him intently, telling him to continue with your eyes, “I’ve got to tell you this now, I can’t hold it in any longer, especially after almost losing you, you know, you coded on the operating table twice? I almost lost you, twice. So, you need to know Y/N I'm in love with you and I have been for four years six months ten days eight hours twenty-three minutes,” he glances down to his watch really quick, “and fifteen seconds, and I broke up with Maeve, she knew when I hesitating in saying I don’t love you that I really did, and sure I loved her but nowhere close to how much I love you, I only started dating her because I knew there is no way you’d return my feelings, but that was unfair to her,”  he exhales loudly as he rambled forgetting to breathe in between sentences. You look at him in awe, mouth gaped open, and when you realize he staring at you waiting for you to say something.

“I love you too Spence, I have for a long time now, but I thought a genius like you would want another genius, not me,” you say blushing. He moves closer to you leaning towards to you and you lean towards him and gently brush you lips against his. He takes in that you want to kiss him too and smashes his lips into yours for a passionate kiss. You were so caught up in the kiss that you didn’t hear the doors to your hospital room open as the team walks in, you only realize when you hear Derek wolf whistle and Penelope squeal.

“My man,” Derek says slapping Spencer on his shoulder.

“Congrats,” Rossi and Hotch tell you guys, Hotch even wearing one of his rare smiles on his face.

Alex just smiles. While JJ pulls Spence into a hug before carefully doing the same to you. Penelope is so excited she hyperventilating a little bit in the corner with Derek now trying to calm her down, he looks over his shoulder at you two and say, “We’ll give you lovebirds some privacy” leading Penelope out as the others follow. You and Spencer just look at each other and smile contently.  

----------------------

Bonus Scene

As the team are outside of your room with a finally calm Penny G, JJ calls Emily and puts her on speaker, while the other each hand Rossi a twenty.

“Hey Em guess what just happened?” JJ says, and Emily doesn’t know so she replies with a what with a chuckle as she could hear the smile in JJ’s voice so she knows it's not a serious call. “Y/N and Spe-”

“You owe me twenty bucks,” Rossi cuts in.  

“Are you for real?” Emily asks knowing exactly what he was talking about, the bet the made when you first joined the team that they updated every so often and started going by months instead of days or weeks since you guys took so long. They had updated it right before Emily left and when Alex came, she decided to join it too. Rossi had this month.

“Yup,” JJ confirms, “we walked in on them kissing.”

“Well it took them long enough,” Emily says, and everyone laughs in agreement. Even though you were shot it ended up being a happy day.

[qvid-pro-qvo]

do you have a favorite Criminal Minds episode overall? Do you have a favorite for each character?

mmmmmmm very good question to think about as i comfort rewatch :) also, probably gonna do favorite here and not best, because i think those are two separate questions. you’ll also see my bias toward earlier episodes here. whoops. 

favorite episode overall - this is a tough one, but i LOVE the episodes where we see the work of profiling, and in some episodes this is really shown as an art form. i would have to say “seven seconds” (3x01). i love the enclosed space the mall serves as geography, i love how they interview the family, i love the way they bounce off of each other. i could watch this episode every day. shit like this is why criminal minds is great. there are other episodes that i could classify as favorites but probably fall into the category of character episodes. 

this unsurprisingly got long, like novel-lengthy, so i’m sticking the individual characters under a cut.

hotch 

aaron hotchner. there’s a reason i write fic for this man, besides the fact that i feel like in later seasons he is the epitome of one note most times. we see him smile every so often, but i also think i latch onto earlier episodes because we see so much of his care for those he cares for. i LOVE “lessons learned” (2x10) for him. i LOVE the way he is so blatantly shown to adore haley and jack. i think this is one of the episodes that speaks volumes across the show, even as his humanity kind of gets stripped away in the later episodes. i think this is a great intro for emily prentiss, too, but i don’t put it with her because while she does shine, i like other episodes for her better. the foyet storyline, of course, all the way through its conclusion in “route 66” (9x05). i really love the way we see his adoration for haley and jack, i love the way we see him grapple with his guilt, and. fuck. i just care about aaron hotchner a lot. also i can’t not say “it takes a village” (7x01) - beard hotch? inspired my first ever fic for him? yeah.  also, i think it also shows the things he is willing to do for his team, because i truly think that if any member of the team was in that situation, he would be there for them and do the exact same thing. hypothetically. 

rossi 

rossi isn’t my favorite character for a variety of reasons, namely because i never really felt connected to him and i think he... is a tool for the writers to bring things out of left field. but i think a huge growth moment for him and for me in terms of appreciating him as a character is “zoe’s reprise” (4x15). the rossi that comes back to the bau is definitely one who is a lot of things, and this episode pretty much expertly breaks down every wall that he’s put up since he left. we see him empathize with a victim, see him get told off when he tries to use money to fix the situation, we see him reflect on the consequences of his actions and the way that even though he’s kind of an ass when he first comes on, there’s more underneath. like i said, he’s not my favorite character, but this episode does a good job of working in much needed humanization of him. also, of course, the dinner scene in “proof” (7x02) could be an episode all on it’s own. “as a family.” you’re so right, rossi, you’re so right. 

derek 

god, i fucking love derek episodes. i love, love, love derek morgan. i high-key think that shemar moore does some of the most incredible/versatile acting on this show, and i’m not even speaking in hyperbole. we can talk about microexpressions from hotch and mgg’s portrayal all we want, but the way shemar moore delivers a man who suffered from some of the worst childhood trauma and creates a layered character with some of the most incredible empathy towards others on his team and victims is just jaw-dropping. i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again - derek is the most emphathetic character and the most in tune with the rest of the team. he is 100% the character who knows what others are feeling and actually acts on it. his relationships with spencer and penelope and emily -

but the episodes. there are tons of points in episodes focused on other characters where he shines (”penelope” and “mayhem” are two that come to mind) but honestly? “profiler, profiled” (2x12). not because of the trauma, but because how derek reacts to the trauma. we see him go through the five stages of grief when it comes to watching his persona, his shield, crumble around his team. we see him get taken apart and put himself back together. it is one of those episodes that makes me cry every time i watch it. derek confronting carl buford, that scene - f u c k. that’s all i have to say. 

penelope 

i absolutely adore my girl penelope. her character-centric episodes are some of my absolute favorite in the show. and it’s more like, i see a lot of myself in her even if i don’t absolutely identify with her personality (i am not nearly as sunshiney, unfortunately). so for her, i have to go with the classic “penelope” (3x09) for one. first of all, i think that the way the team cares for her is so vital. she is the heart of the team. and this episode shows it. more than that, i think it also shows how important a role she plays when she’s fully functioning, and we get reminded of how much she so desperately cares for others. i rewatch this episode often. another one for her is “exit wounds” (5x21). once again showing how much she cares for others, and also a really good/great/awesome derek and penelope moment. i love how often we get reassured that the team wants her exactly how she is, and she doesn’t have to change to catch the bad guys, and the moment where she says she looked into that man’s eyes so he could see something brilliant and bright as he died? god. sticks with me. 

emily

now. i’m not gonna lie. i think while i simp for hotch, emily is the most interesting character in the canon besides derek. i think while there are some problems in terms of continuity in her storyline, i think her journey in season six is one of my absolutely favorites to rewatch. i love watching her manipulate doyle. do i think the show could’ve done more in terms of fallout? yes. do i care? not totally. it’s a procedural, i get it. i love emily prentiss (probably am in love with her). i think her introduction in “lessons learned” is expert. while “demonology” (4x17) isn’t my favorite episode overall (i felt a disconnect with the story they were trying to tell in terms of unsub), i think for emily it’s such a brilliant look into her psyche and the way she thinks about her past. and i think “lauren” (6x18) is awesome at making the audience really look, watching her grapple with the consequences of her actions, her breakdown when she hears garcia’s message and having to quickly put herself back together... yeah, i love it. another one? “minimal loss” (4x03). i LOVE minimal loss. not only because of the story and the unsub, because emily throwing herself verbally in front of spencer to protect him is one of the top tier moments in the show. her and spencer’s relationship... fuck, so good.

spencer

there is a reason that spencer reid sticks around through fifteen seasons and it is because he is the soul of show. no, i’m not kidding. i think there is a lot of development that happens with spencer and when his individual relationships are highlighted the show shines. i think when the show, well, showcases his ingenuity it thrives. one episode that i just rewatched that comes to mind is “derailed” (1x09). the intensity of the episode is highlighted by spencer’s moments of humor, humanity, and intelligence. i like “revelations” (2x15) for the same reason. we see his genius through the eyes of the team and we’re just as in awe of him as hotch and gideon are. (did he get the support he needed after that episode? no, and i’ll die mad about it.) also his relationship with his mother, i will cry about it at any moment of the day. i LOVE their relationship, i love the way they develop, i LOVE, LOVE, LOVE the fact that we see the both of them throughout the whole series. “the fisher king, part two” (2x01) and the growth moments between the both of them - like, god, rip my heart out kind of love. fuck, and don’t even get me started on HIS empathy. the way that he reaches out to so many people who are suffering through his ability to just... listen. he doesn’t overlook anyone. he can’t. he knows what it feels like. some examples i love “the uncanny valley” (5x12) and “coda” (6x16).

jj

jj. there’s a lot i could say about jj, but i will say this. i do think liaison jj is more interesting, inherently, than profiler jj, and i do think that her character is reduced as the series goes along. i honestly think she is more of an equal with the rest of the team when she is liaison and plays that role. i will say, though, that i think her own exhibition of empathy, namely through the way she is willing to take the brunt of communicating with victims and families, is brilliant throughout the show. she does so much and i wish we saw her do even more (also she is canonically one of the best shots on the team, and i LOVE that). my favorite episodes for her is “risky business” (5x13), because as someone who has lost a friend in the same way jj lost her sister, i really felt for her and i think this gave us so much insight into WHY she does what she does. and “the longest night” (6x01) because her speech impacts the unsub almost as much as it impacts me. there’s a reason hotch wants her to be the one on the radio waves, and she nails it because she’s competent and incredible and... yeah. i do love her.

[chbslove]

i am steter trash so i wrote an au where stiles is a spark that lives in the forest because he killed his dad in an accident back when he was a kid and couldn't control his magic and his moms family was just made up of mages and he is the first one to actually be a born spark with loads of power so she raises him and teaches him everything she knows

and in this au sparks are being hunted and put down like animals so claudia builds a house in the forest with stiles where he can live and study magic on the land of their family and after she dies stiles moves there.

(and yes hes a lot older in this because it makes me antsy to write about eighteen year old stiles and adult peter. sorry. I'm a pussy okay.)

and stiles meets his gang! and scott is a dryad, lydia is a mermaid, jackson and danny are mermen (and jackson and danny are together by the way), i planned allison as a regular human that meets scott on a walk in the woods and falls in love with him later in the story because the hale fire storyline is still happening, and kira is an ancient kitsune who also lives in the forest and is good friends with stiles, and erica, boyd, isaac, liam, theo etc are not there yet but thats cause stiles is pretty alone.

he just minds his own business and takes care of the dryads and meets fairies (who live in the forest) and makes a deal with them that they'll stop screwing around with humans and stay in the forest and he'll protect them and take care of them because sparks are powerful and the fairies appreciate that instead of being afraid of him.

and stiles just does his thing for a couple of years until the fairies go a little bit too far and peter hale, who is stupidly a little too far in the forest on his patrol, gets caught in a storm they cause and gets lost in the woods, and he finds stiles' house and stiles takes him in and gives him dry clothes and then guards him back so peter won't get himself fairy'ed

and then a week passes and stiles is kind of anxious peters family will tell him to fuck off the woods (even though it's stiles' heritage to take care of the forest, the hales just live there) and then: the actual plot

a little apple dryad tells him scott found a dying fairy. this fairy apparently told scott in her dying breath something wolfish killed her, and stiles wrongly thinks peter and his family did that, and he goes to find scott to ask him about it, but scott is just gone. stiles can't find him and gets worried and checks his wards, and when he gets to the wards around the hale property, he meets laura. he asks her if she's seen scott, and she saw him going back into the forest, but stiles still can't find him.

laura leaves and stiles finds the ward to their territory broken, and it stinks like druid, so he figures it was this deaton guy because werewolves aren't sneaky like that.

stiles visits lydia (because he still can't find scott and lydia knows how to calm him down) and finds out jackson and danny saw a monster while making out under the surface of their lake and from then stiles knows that the hales have got nothing to do with this because what lydia describes Is Not a werewolf.

so he gets pissy, and then ultimately is enraged when he finds a dead stag this monster killed, and because he's pissy he visits the hales to tell talia he's rightfully going to kill their emissary for being a bitch and breaking his wards and letting some monster walk his territory.

and talia is all "what the fuck how do i not know you." and stiles is all internally "i see my darling peter kept his promises" and then he's internally like "wait fuck i'm not really in love with this guy am i" and then he's like "oh. OH."

and talia convinces him not to kill deaton because shes awesome and stiles grumpily agrees because... not agreeing would be a dick move and it would mean. War. Basically.

so the hales offer their help looking for scott and stiles finds this monster thing on his search and its a wendigo yay, and scott has been following this thing around for days now because he's a dumbass and wanted to help, and they bro out

and the hales and stiles kill this thing, which means magic action. and stiles is awesome. and everyone knows that now.

what follows is just steter get-to-know-eachother and the hale pack are the biggest wingmen (wingpeople) ever and there's fluff and magic and a lot of flowers because stiles is a person that can't for the life of him say the words "i love you" and gets incredibly anxious when people say "i love you" so he mostly displays his feelings for peter in hanakotoba, the traditional japanese flower language that kira taught him, and peter eventually catches onto that and they get together in a load of angst and fluff and they have sex. because of course they have loads of sex. bold of you to think peter can keep his hands off stiles for longer than a day and likewise.

and there is like a load of stiles/hale pack friendship dynamics because i love them all and then suddenly yeehaw. hale fire.

So paige has already happened in this timeline before stiles and peter met, and derek still meets kate and she does her scum thing and uses him. a bunch of hunters show up to the hale house, shoot them with wolfsbane bullets and gather them so they can burn together.

stiles wakes up in a rush because something bad is happening to his wolves but then his eyes fall closed again and he can't get out of bed for a solid time because someone freaking poisoned him and he's fevering and weak and everything is dizzy, but he forces himself up because something. bad. is happening. to his. wolves. he stumbles into his kitchen and almost dies right there and then, because the poison is wolfsbane and he feels like he got tons of it shoved down his throat by the person that poisoned him. his life starts flashing in front of his eyes and he fights back at it and vomits the wolfsbane out, believes it out of his system and when it's gone, he's just left raging.

because i hate kate, stiles loses control when he meets her at the hale house and kills her. he gets the pack and gets them out of the house, breaks the mountain ash circle and they leave. the hales can't go back to their house because the place is swarming with hunters

and peter and stiles figure out it was deaton who told kate everything she needed to know to set this trap and the mountain ash circle also stinks like druid, so deaton gets revealed as being the bad guy all along. stiles figures that he also poisoned him so he wouldnt interrupt, and that deaton wanted thalias alpha spark. the wendigo was a test and deaton put it there on purpose to see how strong stiles was and if he would care about the hales, because deaton knew stiles would feel the hunters killing them and ever since peter and stiles got together the druid knew he would have to murder him too to get the hales dead.

and stiles is just half feral in his wrath and the aftermath of the wolfsbane poisoning, and derek is sobbing and muttering about this being all his fault, and peter has two bullets stuck in his knees and has to be held up by his niece and his brother-in-law, and every one of them is shot and hurt and crying and talia does her best to comfort derek while shaking as well

and stiles just closes his eyes. takes a deep breath. and takes care of his family-in-law, because fuck if he isnt gonna marry peter after this. he takes them in, gives them clean and comfortable clothes, patches them up, lets them shower, yeets his living room so they have space for a big puppy pile, gives them food and water to drink and then draws a ward around his house that is strong enough deaton won't be able to find them unless he sells his soul to the king of hell.

when he's done with that, he locks the hales in and asks kira to take care of them and make sure they're okay while he's gone. she agrees and stiles goes and because he's angry and kind of more dark than i let slip until now so he just. slaughters the hunters that are left. and he enjoys it.

then he shows up to chris argents house, shocks the living hell out of allison because he's still covered in blood and ash, and goes talk to gerard, who is there for alibi purposes. he just flatly tells the truth and asks gerard how many times they've done this now. and the second the old man lets slip the hales weren't the first, stiles goes full Older Derek Hale Mode and slams him against a wall to threaten the living shit out of the man.

by threaten i mean he says that he'll kill him and there's nothing the guy can do about it, cause stiles will find him, no matter how far he runs. yknow bamf dark stiles shit. i am living for writing this scene right now bye

and then he looks at chris and allison. allison looks scared out of her mind and then she asks if thats true. if her family really did something like that. and chris has to look her square in the eye and tell her through gritted teeth that, altough he didnt know about this, yes, they did that to innocent people.

and stiles looks at chris and gives him a nod, because he knows the guy can get this right, he knows allison is strong and fierce and will be fine no matter what. he looks at gerard and sneers at him in disgust. then he leaves like the dramatic bitch he is, but not without ensuring chris will clean this mess up and make an alliance with talia.

he goes back to the house and the only one still awake is peter, and stiles breaks down completely, covered in blood from head to toe and scared out of his mind too. peter holds him, gently leads him into the shower, and helps him get cleaned up, washes his hair, picks out clothes for him, and they go to sleep together.

then, recovery. stiles organizes therapy for derek because lord knows the boy needs it, he nurses the hales healthy, shows them around in the house, they meet his friends, cora and lydia take a particularly special interest in each other, scott is sad because allison broke up with him but stiles visits the argents and talks to her a lot and they become friends too, and he knows scott will get over her eventually, just as she's getting over him.

and stiles shows the hales his life for a while until everyone is recovered, and then they go back to the hale house that he cleaned up already (because, uh, corpses had to be buried, floors had to be cleaned from blood and the smell of magic and mountain ash had to be erased)

and then peter proposes to stiles and they have a beautiful wedding by the lake where cora can talk to lydia, and derek ends up talking to scott quite a lot because scott is nervous and sweet and falls head over heels for the quiet werewolf, and guess who allison ends up with? nobody. because allison is fucking awesome and in the hunter business and she takes it upon her to start cleaning up the community and goes against hunters that are like her aunt just killing innocent people and a relationship with anybody would just be annoying. maybe she realizes she isnt even into relationships, i don't know that yet. aro ally would be interesting, dude.

And then in the end stiles goes to live with the hales and they mend their territory together so he can still visit his friends and he leaves the house to cora who eventually moves there as an adult so she can live with lydia. he and peter move out as well and they go back to town when stiles is ready, because he's lived so freaking long in the fear someone will hunt him down and kill him for his power, and now everything is peaceful. so he puts down his weapons, stops fighting, and lives happily ever after.

and has loads of sex with peter. just because.

[stxrrywildflower]

hypothermia

pairing - spencer reid x reader

summary - you and derek go to extreme lengths to save a victim

warnings - injury, mentions of case, cursing

word count - ?

cold.

all you felt was cold.

you could barely remember where you were or what had happened.

your senses felt frozen.

all you could manage to do was shut your eyes.

___

the team arrived in portland, oregon a few days prior.

it was march, meaning the temperatures barely passed the the mid-fifties at the high, and dropped extremely low during the night. even snow fell on the ground as you landed, resulting in everyone on the team adding an extra layer or two.

the unsub was killing women and disposing of their bodies on the streets lining the beaches. it was becoming extremely difficult to narrow the suspect pool down, due to the large population.

hotch ordered you and spencer to go to the morgue and look at the previous victims to find out what you could.

“he must have some sort of emotional tie to to the ocean. it would explain why the unsub chooses that location,” spencer spoke from the passenger seat.

you nodded, “possible grew up on the coast or maybe even lost someone to drowning.”

upon arrival at the morgue, the two of you made your way inside. you both greeted the coroner before grabbing gloves. as you moved around the victims bodies, spencer talked to the man about what he could figure out.

“they’re not drowned. there’s a puncture wound in her foot, probobly died from a heart attack,” you concluded.

with that, you and spencer returned to the police station to alert your team about what you had discovered. while walking towards the doors, the wind picked up causing you to hug your jacket a little tighter. spencer pulled you closer to him to keep you warm.

the next four days were agonizingly slow. another body had been found, but it had the exact same marks as the others with nothing different. if anything, it slowed your investigation down rather than help you.

the team worked long hours, desperate to find a lead. and finally, after those four days, they found one.

hotch sent you and morgan to investigate the suspects house that night. it was dark and very cold. upon arrival, you found it was empty. but with further investigation, you two concluded that this defiantly was your guy.

pictures and articles on these women were pinned on the walls as well as an article about a little boy drowning in a riptide a month or so ago.

“stresser,” you informed morgan.

as you two were walking out of the house, a red car sped out of the garage of the house and down the road. you managed to catch a glimpse of the driver and passenger; it was the unsub and his current victim. thankfully, she was alive.

morgan jumped into the drivers seat as you got into the passengers seat. he sped off, following the car the best he could. at one point, due to the darkness and wind, you lost the car.

however, a few moments later, after driving around, you saw the red care carelessly parked on the side of the road. the unsub was dragging the girl, who was gagged and tied at her wrists and ankles, towards the end of the pier.

“unsub located, he has a girl with him. location is the pier just off of south street,” you spoke into your communication system.

you and morgan slowly stepped out of the car and took a step towards the unsub who had a sly grin on his face. he held an automatic rifle which was pointed at the girls head.

“morgan she has weights on her,” you informed your fellow agent.

“you don’t have to do this man!” morgan shouted, “just let the girl go. we can tell the judge you cooperated. let her go.”

the next moments happened all so quickly. the unsub pushed the girl off of the pier into the water. due to the weights attached, she slowly began to sink to the bottom. the man then pointed his gun at morgan. you fired a shot, killing him instantly. you and derek shared a quick look before taking off sprinting off of the pier and diving into the water.

the team arrived just in time to see you and morgan go under. rossi and emily went over to the unsub, checking his pulse before concluding him to be dead. the rest of the team stayed on the beach, narrowing their eyes at the water, no sign of you or morgan anywhere.

after hitting the water, your entire body tensed up. the water couldn’t have been more than 35-40 degrees. you managed to pry your eyes open, just enough to see the light from derek’s flashlight.

the water was pitch black and you needed to find the girl. you were both loosing oxygen quickly and no doubt the victim was too.

after then more seconds of desperately searching, you saw the woman floating towards the bottom of the water. as quickly as you could, you grabbed your pocket knife and sliced the ropes. the process was painfully slow, and with each moment, you felt yourself in more and more pain.

finally, the ropes fell and you took one arm while derek took the other. after pushing off the ocean floor, you made it to the surface, gasping for air. you used your spare hand to push back your hair as you frantically looked around.

in the distance, you could make out your team as well as the police standing on the beach. your whole body was shaking as you couldn’t believe how far out you were. slowly but surely, you began to swim towards the mainland.

in your mind, the process seemed to take forever. your boots finally made contact with the sand, allowing for you to stand up. you and morgan hauled the victim onto the sand where the emt’s were waiting.

you and derek, however, seemed locked in place, still standing waist deep in painfully cold water. spencer was helping the emt’s after orders from hotch but looked over when he heard a large splash. his head turned just in time to witness morgan collapsing, just after you went down. thankfully, emily and hotch were there to catch you both.

“w-who are you. where a-am i,” you spoke shakily, mind incredibly fuzzy.

the pain began to increase throughout your body, but it seemed to attack your head the most. after your legs went out, your arms were next. they were holding emily’s arms but then dropped. your head rolled to the side. upon looking at hotch, derek was having the same results.

“medics!” hotch shouted.

“hey y/n, i need you to stay awake. keep those eyes open. come on y/n, please,” the woman who you couldn’t quite remember in front of you pleaded. the next few moments were a blur as you couldn’t follow her demands and instead shut your eyes.

once the second wave of emt’s arrived, you and morgan were quickly loaded onto stretcher’s and rushed to the hospital. the team stood on the beach, still processing what happened. hotch and emily were starting to feel a little sick from entering the water to help their team.

“i know we all want to get to the hospital but it’s already late. everyone go back to the hotel and get changed and we can go to the hospital afterwards,” hotch spoke to his team.

as everyone began to walk back to to the car, spencer stopped, tapping his hands against his leg as he looked at the ocean. j.j. noticed this and made her way over, placing her hand softly on his shoulder.

“talk to me,” j.j. spoke with a calm tone.

“hypothermia is one of the most dangerous medical conditions out there. your body literally shuts down after being in the water for only a few minutes. but y/n and morgan were in the water for a long time. i’m just so worried,” spencer struggled to get out.

for a genius who knew so much, he had run out of things to say.

“spence, the doctors are going to do everything in their power to help them. you have every right to be worried. derek is your best friend, besides me of course,” j.j. joked, causing spence to smile slightly, “and to state the obvious, you’re so in love with y/n. you two have known each other for practically forever and she’s your girlfriend, of course you’re going to be worried. but for now, all we can do is go back to the hotel and then the hospital.”

he nodded slightly before allowing j.j. to lead him to the car and to the hotel.

spencer changed into a comfortable button up with a sweater overtop before meeting the team back in the lobby. everyone made sure to bundle up, especially after the situation with you and morgan, before they made their way to the hospital.

after using his status as an fbi agent for a little leverage, hotch managed to get the nurse to give them some information. you and morgan were currently in the icu but that’s all they received. the nurse permitted two members of the team to stay overnight while everyone could return the following morning. at that point, full medical information could be released.

spencer was as easy first choice. j.j. was nominated to be second. she was the closest with spencer and would be the best moral support. the team echoed their goodbyes to the two before promising to be there tomorrow morning right when opening hours started.

the two were led to an area where they could sit and rest for the night. it wasn’t outside of yours our derek’s room which wasn’t ideal, but spencer and j.j. accepted it. the two collapsed into the chairs, each pulling a blanket over themselves before slowly drifting to sleep.

the following morning, the team re-grouped in the waiting room of the hospital. surprisingly, spencer and j.j. had managed to get an actual good night of sleep.

“i can take you to agent y/n and morgan’s took where a doctor while then brief you,” the nurse told the group.

they were lead to a different floor and down the hallway. the nurse motioned for chairs to sit in while she went to go get the doctor later. a moment later, another women appeared in front of them, introducing herself.

“first of all, agent y/n and morgan will be okay,” the doctor spoke causing a relived sigh to echo through the hallway, “but, both have sustained serious injuries. hypothermia is the obvious one. y/n and derek were in the freezing water for an extremely long time causing their bodies to almost shut down completely. i’ve never seen two patients cases mirror each other but y/n and derek’s do. y/n’s heart stopped for a quick few seconds but quickly started beating again. moments later, derek’s stopped also. thankfully, both are hooked up to iv’s and are recovering nicely. the only problem is, it may take awhile for the two to wake up. they really should have died, and i am unsure how they’re still okay. without their selfless efforts, the woman who is now in recovery would be dead. so i wanted to thank your team for their actions.”

the team processed the doctors words. “can we see them?” emily asked. “yes of course, we put them both in one of the larger rooms. it’s room number 503, three doors down on the left,” with one more smile, the doctor then left.

entering the hospital room, the team paused. you both had thick blankets covering your bodies, a slight buzz sounding from the electric heater inside. spencer looked at you first. your lips were still a slight shade of blue and your fingertips had a few black marks on them. derek was the exact same.

spencer teared up at the sight of the two of you. he collapsed in a chair by your bedside first. he pressed his lips together and rubbed his temple. all the team could do was wait for you two to wake up.

a week later, at around 10pm, derek woke up. the room was dark and the hallway lights were dim, as it was past visiting hours. he went to sit up but his muscles were weak. it took a large effort to move his hand to the ‘call nurse’ button. after pressing it, he moved his head to the side where you were still laying. a few moments later, a nurse entered the room. “good to see you awake agent morgan, how are you feeling?”

“not great. what happened?” derek asked.

“you and agent y/n went into the freezing ocean to save one of the victims. luckily, she has since been released. for the two of you, your hearts both stopped momentarily as a side effect of the hypothermia. but, with lots of rest and recovery, you two should be fine.”

derek nodded to the nurses words before leanining back into the hospital bed.

at close to 4am, you woke up. you felt the same way as derek did but managed to move your head to the side. derek was sitting up, looking at some magazine the nurse must have given him.

“hey kid,” derek spoke softly.

you moved your hand up to your head. “remind me to not go swimming ever again during the winter,” you first spoke resulting in derek to laugh. soon after, a nurse came in, checking over you first before changing the iv’s. “your team should be here in a few hours, they’ve visited everyday,” the nurse told you with a smile.

true to her word, once visiting hours, you heard talking from outside of your room. the doors opened seconds later. spencer immediately rushed to your bedside, hugging you softly as you did your best to return it.

“you’re amazing,” spencer spoke before cupping your cheeks and kissing you softly.

the two of you stopped when morgan called over, “hey lover boy, no hello to me?” loud laughs echoed through the hospital room as relief washed over the team that you two were okay.

[alexandrablake]

love, jj

Prompts: 88. “I never meant to fall in love with you, I just did” from this prompt list! Pairing: Jemily, technically Word Count: 2,456 Warnings: Mentions of death. A/n: Red (@hurricanejjareau) picked this prompt. thank you, ily. that is all.

                April 29, 2011 Emily,

        Hey. It’s me. I’m sure you can tell by my handwriting. I’ve had you look over enough of my reports that I’d honestly be kind of disappointed if you didn’t. And before you say anything, yes, I know we play Scrabble, but that doesn’t count. I need to talk to you. God, Emily, I just need to talk to you. To see that you are alive, that you are well, and, honestly, to see that you are real. 

        These past few weeks without you have been awful. Everything is different. I’m spending more and more time around the office. The way we all skirt around your name like you never even existed is just painful. For a while there, I almost started to believe you weren’t real. And that’s a big fear of mine- to wake up one morning not worrying about you, because I know that’s all you have right now. You have Hotch and I thinking about you, and that’s it.

        Depressing. And nothing I need to tell you, but it’s not like you’ll read these anyways. It’s nearing two months since you “died.” I don’t think Rossi has processed it yet. Penelope is a shell of her former self coping. Even Ashley seems distraught. Spence has dealt with far too much trauma, and yet, I’ve never seen him like this. He’s been at my house everyday this week, crying and then sleeping on the couch. It’s heart wrenching, and it takes everything in me to not tell him you’re okay. That you’re alive. But I can’t, not with Doyle still out there, always being a danger to you.

        But, my God, is Morgan the worst to be around right now. Second to only Penelope Garcia, you were Derek’s favorite person in the team. No point hiding it, you’re all profilers and I spend way too much time around you guys.. He’s gutted. Honestly, I think he’s the one person here who has really “accepted” that you’re gone. Even Hotch is off. But not Morgan. And that’s the horrifying part. He’s the exact same person that he was before you left, but now his smiles are a little too wide and his gestures are a little too exaggerated. It’s terrifying to be around. 

        I guess that leaves me. I’m doing okay. Miss you everyday, but I feel bad every time I do because I know the truth. I know where you are (kind of) and I know that you are alive. They buried you. They know where you are, too, but for them, that’s six feet under.

        Love, JJ

        March 1st, 2011 Emily, 

        Me again. Today was better, I think. I know we like to say that the serial killers never take a vacation, but they seem to be on one right now. It’s just a bunch of consulting on relatively low level cases. Thank God, because I don’t think any of them could handle a case right now. Reid didn’t sleep at my house last night, which is improvement, I think. He definitely didn’t sleep, but I’ll take what I can get. Derek is almost worse.

        It’s lonely here without you. Penelope isn’t herself, and I find her sitting at your desk all the time. She’s stopped staring at your photo constantly and now avoids the hallway with all the memorials so she doesn’t have to walk by you. She’s in her office even more than she normally would be. There’s boxes of cupcakes being brought in all the time. She’s an absolute and utter wreck. 

        You remember that feeling we all felt when Haley was killed? When we all stood around her casket and watched with teary eyes as Hotch and Jack said their final goodbyes? The feeling that nothing would be okay again? Yeah. That’s about what’s happening now, but now it’s not just Hotch feeling like his life is over. It’s all of us.

        And God, you must be so lonely. 

        Love, JJ

        April 10th, 2011 Emily,

        Today was an all-time low. Everywhere I looked, there you were. Oh, there you were grabbing coffee after an all-nighter spent at my house. Oh, there you are, legs dangling over the side of the chair you’re lounging in because you don’t know how to sit properly. Oh, there you are, smiling at Hotch as you talk animatedly in his office about God knows what. Oh, there you are, downing shots with Rossi.

        Your ghost was everywhere over this office, over my life. You were this office, you were everything. I can’t go anywhere to escape you. How can you have a ghost when you aren’t even dead?

        April 11th, 2011 Emily, 

        Another crying Spencer night. They’re off on their second case, a spree killing in Tampa. I don’t know. At this point, I’m kind of lost. I’m spending far too much time at that office even though I don’t work there because it’s one of my last connections to you. I just… miss you, I guess. No, I know I miss you. 

        I just can’t stop feeling guilty. I’m causing all this pain in the team and in all your loved ones. I was the one who told Hotch you survived, I was the one who suggested you “die.” This is all my fault. 

        Hotch told me he was doing assessments of the team. That shouldn’t be happening. You should be there. I’m not going to ask for the results, and I don’t think I would be allowed to if I asked. I just don’t want to face the reality of what I’ve done.

        Love, JJ

        May 15th, 2011 Emily, 

        Hey, it’s been a while. Not much has changed. I haven’t been to the BAU since my last letter. I can’t face them anymore. I can’t sit within those walls that seep of you. I can’t face you.

        God damnit, Prentiss! Why did you go after Doyle? You knew we could have helped! This could have all been avoided if you would have trusted us!

        May 15th, 2011 Emily, 

        I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I just miss you. A lot.

        May 22nd, 2011 Emily, 

        With you being gone, I’m starting to realize how much I depended on you. You were my person. If I had a problem, I came to you. If I wanted to get drunk, I came to you. If I wanted to get a break from the overwhelmingness of the testerone of our workplaces, I came to you. If I just wanted to escape, I came to you. 

        I’m still avoiding the BAU as best as I can. Even Hotch and I haven’t been talking. Spence is still coming to my house, though. Still crying. He misses you so much, Prentiss. We all do. 

        When Elle left, I didn’t think any of us would recover. She hadn’t been there for the longest time, but she was an integral part of the team. But we recovered. Then, when Gideon left, some of us were fine, but Reid? I genuinely thought he would never be the same. And I guess he isn’t, but he still recovered. And now you left. So if the pattern continues, we’ll recover.

        But I don’t think I will. Because every waking minute of every day (and even some of the sleeping ones), the thought that we will never catch Doyle haunts me. The thought that I will never see your beautiful face again. The thought that I will never actually get to talk to you again. 

        They don’t have those thoughts. To them, you are dead, under the ground, declared dead on the table. To them, there’s no chance they’ll ever see you again. So, for them, if we don’t catch Doyle, yes they’ll be irrationally angry because the son of a bitch who killed you is still out there, but catching him never had any more reward than revenge and putting another bad guy in prison where he belongs. They won’t realize that not catching him means they’ll never see you again because they don’t even know that’s an option. 

        I love you, JJ

        June 1st, 2011 Emily, 

        The worst part of all this is that I know you’re out there, lonely. I would say afraid, but I know you. Emily Prentiss doesn’t get scared, I know. But you’re alone, in a place that isn’t here. All I want to do is help you. And I can’t because if I do, there’s the possibility that I’ll make everything worse.

        So, I’m trying to focus on positives: happy memories and good things to happen. Like, the other day, I walked through a market and, when I passed a flower stall, all I smelled was that expensive perfume you used to wear. The stuff you stopped using because it made Reid sneeze? The stuff you still use when we would go out on the town? Smelling it made me want to go out and buy a drink and dance the night away. 

        And when I was shopping for new shoes for Henry, I saw a pair of boots that I knew you would buy the instant you saw them. They were lace-up, black with a bit of heel (I know your never-ending goal is to get taller), and there was a slight rose decal on the top. I could hear you shouting, “These are men squashing boots!” because you’re never embarrassed in public. I could see the smile you give me, a flash of blinding white teeth. And I knew the smile I would shoot back because happy Emily is my favorite Emily.

        I love you, JJ

        June 18th, 2011 Emily, 

        You missed Morgan’s birthday. 38! It was a pretty somber occasion because we all knew that something was missing. And it was the day before your 3 month anniversary of being dead. Garcia tried as best as she could to fill the gap, decorating the bar that Rossi rented out very extravagantly. Material items could never make up the lack of you. We all just ended up getting drunk.

        I think it’s really starting to hit Hotch. When I take Henry to hang out with Jack, Aaron’s quiet. Granted, he’s always quiet. (Not around you, though. You always bring out the best in people) This is a different quiet, though. He’s almost silent. I think he’s beating himself up. You know Hotch, anniversaries hit him hard. I think he hoped you would be home now, Doyle staying in the maximum security he belongs in. 

        But the rest of them are moving on. Spencer isn’t having the breakdowns he used to have. Penelope and I can go out for coffee without there being this heavy weight sitting on us. Ashley even joined us once, and it didn’t feel like she was replacing anyone. Rossi is smiling much more. Morgan is still acting a little fake, and he pulls sleepless nights every now and then, obsessing over the case. But he’s better. He can focus on cases, and Penelope tells me that they can go hang out without him being too absent-minded. 

        Hotch is the one I’m really worried about. We both remember the aftermath of Haley’s death. The grieving, the silence, the sleepless nights, the constant fidgeting so he could keep his mind of it. That’s what’s happening now. He’s just as worried about you as I am. We both know the possibility of never seeing you again.

        That leaves me. Three months later and I wouldn’t say I’m much better than I used to be. I still have trouble hanging around them. I still find myself grabbing my phone to text you something before remembering that I would never get an answer. I still find myself longing for you, for your smile, for your touch.

        I love you, JJ

        July 17th, 2011 Emily,

        I think this will be my last letter. I’ve come to a few realizations, and, even though I still desperately need to talk to you, writing these are one of them. 

        One: This isn’t healthy for me- nothing about this is. 5 stages of grief. We both know them, they have to do with the unsubs all the time. These letters are classified as denial. And I need to get through all five. Yes, you aren’t dead, but you may as well be. I can’t see you, I can’t talk to you, I can’t know where you are. There’s a death certificate. You were “buried.” And I need to get to acceptance. I need to accept that I may never see you again. I can’t just exist in this state of limbo forever. 

        Two: You are okay, and you can care for yourself. I guess this goes under the first one, but I don’t really care. You don’t get as close as we did are and not have an ever present worry of “what if she’s not okay? What if I’m not there to protect her? What if she needs my help?” But that’s where the denial thing comes in. I think that I’ve been doing that to myself because it keeps you near to me. It keeps you alive. Because if I can worry about you, there is still a you to worry about. Therein lies the issue. There is no you to worry over. To the world, you are dead. And I need to accept that. Because the you that does exist is perfectly capable and doesn’t need my help. 

        Three: Not having you here is the worst part of this all. Technically, you were gone before you left because I left, but we still talked and hung out. We still went to bars on alternating Saturdays. But we can’t have any of that anymore. And I think that’s what made me realize the last thing. 

        I am completely, utterly in love with you. And that’s terrifying. Unrequited love stories are the worst to read, but here I am, writing one. I loved how hot you looked when you tied your hair up. I love the way you carried yourself. I love the way you smiled at me when Reid went on one of his tangents. I love the way you looked at me when I delivered the profile. I love our hushed talks on the plane when everyone else is asleep, talking about everything and nothing.

        The worst part? You are the missing piece in this puzzle. You, Emily, were the one thing I never took into account when planning my life out. I didn’t mean to fall in love with you, I just did. Yet, here we are- me, writing crappy letters admitting my feelings, and you, halfway across the world, completely unaware of the havoc you’ve wreaked on me.

        I love you, JJ

[jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets]

I Loved Him... Once - CH 1

Title: I Loved Him... Once

Author: jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Heid (Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid)

Rating: This ones General but eventually as the series goes it will be Explicit

Tags: canon typical violence and gore, eventual smut as the series goes, angst, fluff, pining., its gunna be a slow burn guys.

Summary: A series following the team as they solve crimes and take down the bad guys.

     In Part one of this series, we follow the team as they take down a serial killer that has taken a piece of one of their own. And through it all, Spencer and Hotch come to a few conclusions and realizations of their own.

AO3 Link 

Masterlist

*** My works are not to be posted on any sites without my permission! But comments and reblogs are love! <3 Please and thanks!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1

Spencer: 

     “What we have done for ourselves alone, dies with us. What we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal.” - Albert Pike

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

     “Fourteen days, fourteen days, fourteen glorious days!” 

     Spencer barely looked up from the book he was reading, sat at his desk, leaning back in his desk chair as Derek Morgan sashayed across the bullpen and perched himself on the corner smiling down at him.

     He opted to ignore the over the top, ray of sunshine, mood Derek was in, and flipped the page of his book. Derek was not giving in, he was not going to be ignored when he was in such a good mood, so he swiftly swooped his hand and stole Spencer's book, eliciting a whine of protest as he sat forward and reached for it. Though he didn't make any more effort than that, he knew very well there was no way he would be able to get the book back from Derek through force.

     “Come on, Morgan, give it back.”

     Derek laughed, his eyes shining with mirth as he kept playing keep away with Spencer, “You really want it back that bad?”

     “Yes, actually, it was just starting to get good!” He made another jolt forward to reach for the book but it was in vain. Spencer’s brain might be fast, but Derek Morgan's reflexes were always faster.

     “Really, kid, you're reading…” He turned the book over and eyed the title with a raised brow, “‘The Art of War’. You planning on taking someone down, Reid?” Spencer just eyed him as he closed the book and tucked it under his crossed arms, knowing full well that the genius would remember not only the page number he had been on before Derek closed the book, but the exact word he had read last. “Now, like I said before, we have fourteen, I repeat, fourteen glorious days of vacation starting right now. And you're telling me that your only plans are to sit here at your desk, at work, and continue reading ‘The Art of War’ instead of going out and doing something, anything, other than that?”

     “It never hurts to educate yourself, Morgan, and yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you,” he replied, a little short, then tried once more to swipe unsuccessfully for his book, “now give me back my book.”

     “Good god, man, live a little, you're killing me.” Derek stood and moved the book even further out of Spencer's reach, so he just huffed and sat back in his chair again. “You don't have any plans? No dates? No trips to exotic lands to meet fine exotic ladies?”

     “When have you ever known me to ever have plans? Or dates for that matter. It's not like girls are exactly lining up to date the lanky, boy genius.”

     “Oh you're much more than that, pretty boy, you know that.” Morgan perched himself on the side of his desk again.

     “Not to mention the fact that seeing this in a bathing suit on a beach full of, more than likely, gorgeous people, is not something that is on anyone's bucket list, I'm positive of that. I'm so white I'd probably end up blinding half the beach with my legs alone.”

     Derek was laughing, near tears at this point, “Oh, come on kid, it can't be that bad.”

     “Oh, it is,” Spencer was slightly laughing at this point too, “I went to a pool party once in university and I was asked to put my shirt back on because the light was reflecting off my skin and ‘hurting people's eyes’... Derek, it was ten at night. My skin was reflecting the pool lights so severely it was hurting people.”

     Derek barked out a laugh so hard he nearly fell off the table and Spencer couldn't help but join him. “So you just need a little bit of sun, cancel out some of the white. Why not come with me to Barbados? Little sand, little sun, and a whole lotta’ fun.” He shot a quick wink at Spencer who just scoffed and looked away. “Give me two days with you on the beach and I guarantee I could get you a couple shades darker, at least.”

     “Oh, yes,” he nodded, smirking, “as well as skin cancer.”

     “I promise I won't let you get skin cancer, but that being said, once we get you all sunkissed and confident, I can't promise I'll be able to keep all those fine ladies off of you.”

     “You're not making this sound any better. Skin cancer, STD’s, and multitudes of random women hanging off of me, no thank you.”

     “Well, if you don't want to be swarmed by the fine exotic women,” he paused, smirking down at a waiting Spencer, “I'm sure I can help you land some handsome exotic men, then. I'm not here to judge. More women for me.”

     Spencer reached to the side and grabbed the small pile of papers that were sitting there, and swiftly smacked Derek on the arm with them, “Get off my desk.”

     “That doesn't sound like a denial,” he ducked as he was swatted at again, “come with me and I promise you'll have a good time.”

     “Go!”

     Derek chuckled once more, before ducking under his own desk to grab his bag, then turned back to toss the book back to Spencer who barely caught it, “My flight doesn't leave till tomorrow night, think about it!”

     “I don't need to, I'm not going!”

     “Think about it!”

     “What's the point anyways!?” He called as Derek was almost out of ear shot, but he continued anyways, “When has vacation ever worked out for us? I'd buy a ticket and pay for a room, and realistically we'll probably end up right back here in two days, four tops!”

     Derek was gone by this point, not having heard most of what he had said, more than likely already knowing that this was probably their reality, but not wanting to have to accept it. Though his complaints didn't fall on deaf ears.

     “Oh, now you've gone and jinxed it. Just know that if our vacation gets cancelled due to a case, I am definitely coming after you first, Reid.” 

     He gazed up at Emily over the edge of his book, having indeed remembered the exact word he had left off on when it was stolen from him, and gave her a playful smirk. “I am only stating statistics. If you factor in every vacation we have had since we started here at the BAU, the odds that we will have a full, uninterrupted ‘fourteen glorious days’ as Morgan put it, are less than ten percent. Eight point five-six-three-two percent to be exact.”

     “God I hate you sometimes,” though she laughed as she said it, “so you really don't have any plans?”

     “I never said I didn't have any plans,” he sighed and closed his book on his desk, resigned to not getting any reading done until everyone was gone, “just because I don't have plans involving a hot beach or women, doesn't mean I don't have plans.”

     “Oh!” She perked up and moved closer, intrigued. “So what kinds of fun are you up to then?”

     “Oh, loads!” He shifted in his chair, moving to lean towards her with his elbows on his desk. “I'm signed up for a lecture series that starts tomorrow, but the one I'm most excited for is a lecture called ‘Synthetic Metals: A Novel Role For Organic Polymers’ presented by Dr. Alan G. MacDiarmid. It's a Nobel lecture all about possible engineering applications for, and the inner workings of, organic and conductive polymers. It sounds completely fascinating! I was also thinking of taking a trip to Colonial Williamsburg. I mean, how amazing would it be to walk the same streets as Thomas Jefferson, or eat in the same place as George Washington! I was also thinking of visiting the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. They have over twenty- two thousand works on display that are largely focused on modern and contemporary art, especially with a focus on European art after the nineteen hundreds. They are also having a workshop there next week focusing on-”

     “Woah, woah, take a breath,” she laughed a bit, then asked with a hint of concern, “aren't you doing anything that doesn't involve… learning? Like, no info intake, no lecture series, no workshops, just relaxing? Letting your brain just take a break?”

     Spencer pouted his bottom lip in thought then looked back up to Emily, “No? Why would I want to waste two weeks doing nothing when I could spend them increasing my knowledge?”

     “Wouldn't you want to sit back and…” She stared confusedly at an equally confused Spencer, then just shook her head with another laugh, “Nevermind, look who I’m talking to. Of course you would think that spending two weeks learning would be an ideal vacation. To each their own I guess, right.”

     He just nodded, picking his book up again as she moved away from his desk.

     “Well, have fun with your jam packed knowledge filled two weeks, see you in fourteen days.”

     “Or in two to four days. Don't forget the eight point five-six-three-two percent chance that I will see you before-”

     “Blah, blah, blah!” She covered her ears as she walked away from him, “Can't hear you, already on vacation!”

     “Very mature,” though he was smiling, “have fun with your mother.”

     She threw a quick wave at him then disappeared. When she was finally gone, he sat back in his chair with a content sigh. Now that Emily was gone, it was just himself, Rossi, and Hotch who were left in the office, and he knew there was a very low chance that either of them would interrupt him to inquire about his vacation plans. He was finally able to finish his book in peace before catching the last train home. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

     “Knock, knock.” 

     Aaron looked up from where he had been bent over the front of his desk, the pile of papers he had been sorting through covering every inch of it, and towards the door. “David, come in.”

     The man did, eyeing the mess, but merely stood in the middle of the room and tucked his hands into the pockets of his very expensive suit. “Always one of the last to leave, huh?”

     “Has everyone gone?” Aaron asked without looking up this time.

     “Everyone except the usual suspect.”

     “Reid.” Aaron sighed. ‘Not last to leave,’ he thought. Spencer always seemed to still be there, even in the late late hours of the night. After a case, before vacation, even sometimes during vacation. Aaron always felt bad for the man, worried that he was lonely, though nowadays he could relate. 

     “I overheard him talking with Emily and Derek before they left. His most exciting plans seem to have something to do with a Nobel lecture series,” Rossi moved closer, taking up the chair in front of Aaron’s desk, “that kid needs to learn how to slow down and relax, I'm worried he might burn out someday if he doesn't. He should go out, have some fun from time to time.”

     “Well I'm not much better,” Aaron turned, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, now facing David, “my plans for the next two weeks pretty much consist of staying home, catching up on more paperwork, and if I can swing it with Haley, taking Jack for a few days. If I play my cards right, the park will be the most exciting adventure of my vacation. I'm not exactly going out to paint the town red either.”

     “Yeah, you two are wild,” he drawled with a smirk, “you know, maybe a date would do the kid well. Loosen him up a bit.”

     Aaron eyed him warily with a tilt of his head, seeing right through his attempted ruse, “What exactly are you suggesting?”

     “Perhaps, while you both have the time off, you and Spencer could plan something together.” Aaron closed his eyes with a sigh and shifted, opened his mouth to say something in protest, but David beat him to it, hands up to stop him. “I'm just saying, you're the only two people on the team that aren't out of town for the next two weeks. I’ll be in Italy visiting family, JJ is taking her family camping, Prentis is visiting her mom, Garcia is, quote, ‘on a shopping tour of all the best malls in the northern hemisphere’, and Morgan is hitting the beach in Barbados. That leaves you and Reid. So all I'm saying is that maybe you can stop fantasizing about the kid and actually do something about your infatuation.”  

     Aaron just gaped at his friend, shocked, speechless for the first time in as long as he can remember. “I… how…” Was the only thing he was able to manage to stutter out.

     David just smiled up at him mischievously and stated, “I'm a profiler, Aaron, and a damn good one. I've seen the way you look at Spencer, the way you stick close to him, and it's very obvious you care about him. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out, yet ironically the only one to not have figured it out yet is the only actual certified genius.”

     Aaron still didn't know what to say. He had never told anyone about how he felt about Spencer. It was hardly appropriate for him to attempt to pursue the man considering he was his superior, not to mention older than him. Something that had plagued him since the very day he met the cute, quirky doctor on his first day with the BAU. 

     “I can tell you're over-thinking, Aaron.” Rossi speaking brought him out of his small internal panic and he looked down at him. “What is it? That you're his boss? Strauss?”

     He shifted, crossing his arms impossibly closer to his chest. No point in denying it now. “A bit of both, I guess. Not to mention the age difference between us.”

     “First off, I wouldn't worry about Strauss. If anything were to happen between you and Spencer, as long as you navigate the correct channels and immediately disclose your relationship, sign the proper papers, then there is nothing Strauss can do against either of you or your jobs. As for you being his superior, I wouldn't even give that a second thought. No one on our team would think anything of it, no one would ever even entertain the thought that you took advantage, and neither would Spencer.” David then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke. “And the age gap, who cares. Love, is love, is love. Take it while you've got it and don't ever let it go. Age is but a number and love knows no bounds.”

     “Very profound of you, David.” He couldn't help but let a small chuckle slip.

     “What can I say, I am the embodiment of love.”

     “Right, and is that why you've been married three times and are on wife number four?”

     They both laughed, hearty and full, and for the first time since they started talking, Aaron found himself feeling a lot lighter. It was nice to finally have someone who knew his secret feelings for the young genius, and be able to actually have someone to talk to and confide in about it. 

     Rossi's phone ringing broke the moment though, and he reached into his pocket, just looking at the screen and not answering. “Well, my ride to the airport is here. I will see you in two weeks, do not call me.”

     Aaron let loose one last light chuckle, moving along with Dave to see him out. With a smile and a pat on the back as they reached the door he said, “I'll try not to, enjoy your time in Italy.”

     “Oh I intend to,” he opened the door, then turned back at the last minute, “but do me a favor will ya. Don't call me, but do call Spencer.”

     Aaron just smiled, gave Dave a small push out the door, and answered, “Good bye, David.”

     Once he was out the door and down the stairs, Aaron closed the door and took a step to the side to watch him cross the bullpen. He gave a quick goodbye to Spencer as he passed, and then he was gone. Then his eyes wandered over to the last person left besides himself, still sitting alone at his desk, leaned back reading his book. He sighed, watching Spencer for a moment longer before thinking to himself, maybe David was right. Why should he worry about all that other nonsense? Besides, he would never know if Spencer felt the same unless he asked.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Aaron finally finished organizing the paperwork explosion on his desk, filing away what was finished and adding the rest to his bag, then was finally able to head out. 

     It had been a good two hours since Rossi had left his office, leaving Aaron with all kinds of things to think about, and the man that those thoughts were all about was still sitting in the same spot he had been in since vacation officially began. Though now, Spencer was already halfway through his second book. 

     As he passed him, the younger man not even so much as lifting his eyes from his book, he said a quiet, “Have a good vacation, Reid.”

     “You too, Hotch,” he answered back, and Aaron just about kept walking, but stopped himself at the last minute and turned back.

     They were currently alone, no one else around but him and Spencer, so now was just as good a time as any. “Reid…”

     At the questioning tone to his name, Spencer looked up at Hotch who was now standing right in front of him, “Yeah?”

     “I… I was…'' Spencer was still looking up at him with concerned eyes, a furrowed brow, and if Aaron was being honest, a super cute frown. Now, what Aaron wanted to say was ‘Spencer, I know that you and I are the only two who will be remaining in town for the duration of our vacation time, and I was wondering perhaps, if you would like to take advantage of the fact and allow me to take you out to dinner tomorrow night?’ But what he actually managed to come out with instead, was a sad and defeated, “I… I just wanted to wish you well. I hope you have a good fourteen days, and I heard you will be attending a lecture series, I hope it's informative.”

     “Right…” Hotch couldn't be certain, but he was sure that Spencer almost looked… disappointed? “An-anything else?”

     “... No, I don't believe so.” And before he could stumble his way through any more embarrassing sentences he quickly said, “Good night,” and left before Spencer could even return the sentiment. Leaving him staring, still confused and a little down, after a fast walking Aaron, not having the courage to even look back as he left.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Derek woke for the first time well rested and relaxed. No case to solve, no unsub on his mind, no high speed chase down unfamiliar roads, and no showdown with a psychopath in some dark abandoned warehouse. It was just him, the sun, the sand, and two weeks of relaxing and sleeping late, eating more than he probably should and shoving as much fun into two weeks as was completely possible.

     Now, those were Derek's original plans. The plans he made before he left Quantico, Virginia for the beaches in Barbados. For the all night parties, the beautiful ladies, and the all inclusive never ending free drinks. And yet, here he found himself, within arm's reach of all those things, and not doing a single one of them. 

     Instead, Derek walked down the beach and found an empty lounge chair tucked under a very colourful umbrella. A sprite and lime with ice in hand, he stood and looked out at the calming ebb and flow of the ocean, letting the soft crashing of the waves take over and clear his mind completely. It was nice, the best he'd felt in a long, long time. 

     A volleyball skid to a halt at his feet, covering his toes in warm sand, caught his attention and he turned to face the small group of women off to his side. He kicked the ball back over to them, each one of them very obviously interested in getting to know Derek, even if it were just for one night. But to his own surprise, he found himself flashing a smile and a wave in decline of their invitation to come play, and instead took up his seat in the covered lounge chair. 

     He took a second to breathe in the fresh air, took a sip of his drink, then reached down to the small bag he had tucked under the chair, rifling through until he found what he was looking for. He settled back in the chair, not able to help the smile that spread across his face as he read the title of the book in his hands, 'The Art of War', and settled back to read it with a quietly muttered, "Damn you, Spencer Reid."

~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: So there is chapter 1, chapter 2 to come soon! I’m super excited about this guys XD

And if anyone wants to be tagged for future updates please let me know <3

[spooks-and-tea]

Entangled (Spencer Reid x femReader)

Summary: You don’t know how it happened. One moment you were watching Criminal Minds, and the next moment you were literally in the show. Can Spencer be the key to helping you find your way back home?

Warnings: minor character death, mentions of su*cide, bad explanations of quantum mechanics, sexual situations, the usual criminal minds-type content

A/N: wow I’ve been on this site for ages, nearly as long as Criminal Minds was on air, lol, but this is my first fic posted here. I plan to make this one into a few parts if people like it. If this has any relation to other fics it’s not intended. Literally just an idea that popped in my brain. I’ll also eventually add it to my wattpad .@ kittentastic

Word Count: 3,119

Chapter 1.  Chapter 2.  Chapter 3.  Chapter 4. Chapter 5.  Chapter 6.  Chapter 7. Chapter 8.  Chapter 9.  Chapter 10.  Chapter 11.

It was an average, lonely, autumn night. Halloween was nearing and you didn't have anywhere to be. Long estranged from the people you once called family, and friends, you were starting a new life in L.A.

Yeah, you were one of those small-town girls with big-city dreams. You wanted to be an actress, a dream your father had once encouraged. When he suddenly died, you had nothing left but a new step-mother who discouraged your dreams and was more than happy to disown you when you reached 18 years of age; a classic Cinderella story.

It had taken a while, getting yourself through university and saving up enough money to move out to L.A. Now you were 27 and living your dreams...partly. You worked at a coffee shop in Hollywood; a great way to meet people that could potentially cast you in a big production, but that plan had yet to come to fruition. Every audition would have someone else in mind for the part.

Today, you had finished yet another round of auditions for everything from small commercial bits to tv shows. You poured yourself a glass of red wine after finishing your microwavable meal-for-one dinner. Wine would always be your go-to drink after your dissappointing days, it was great at helping you sleep. You clicked on the tv and sipped your drink from your criss-crossed sitting position and soon found a Criminal Minds marathon that was just starting. It almost seemed like fate as tomorrow you had an audition lined up for the very same show.

You smiled as the bright, happy, Penelope Garcia came into the shot, followed by the rest of the BAU. You absentmindedly bit your lip as Dr. Spencer Reid came into frame.

Like a large percentage of the show's viewership, you found the handsome genius slipping into one or two of your fantasies. You may have daydreamed about the Dr. being a real person and walking into your workplace to order coffee and whisk you off your feet. You may have also woken up from a few dreams involving the handcuffs he was currently restraining an unsub with.

You wondered if you would get the part. Would it be odd having to pretend this dream-man was real? You'd hope you could contain your blushing around Matthew at least.

You finished your drink and stretched out on the couch, already feeling your eyes growing heavy. You found your mind wandering as you grew more and more tired, hardly paying attention to the episode. The last thought you had before you drifted off was, "what if Spencer Reid was a real person?"

Bright lights of assorted colors and shapes danced behind your tired eyes. You felt a tugging sensation that seemed to pull you from your core. It felt warm and safe, like it wanted to protect you. A hum grew louder and louder in your ear canal, followed by a crackling wind. It was like an electric storm. The smell of coffee and a woodsy vanilla filled whatever place you were in. It was odd, you knew this, but you weren't scared. Something told you this was right. Your body began to rise higher and higher until a loud snap echoed around you, shattering your surroundings.

"Whoa, sleeping on the job now Y/N? Did someone tire you out last night?" A woman's voice broke through the fog as your mind caught up with you.

Wait, am I still dreaming? That voice...it sounds like...

"Pretty Boy, you wanna check her for a pulse?"

And that is definitely...

"I-I don't think that's necessary."

You slowly lifted your head and opened your eyes wide. Your blurred vision slowly grew used to the bright indoor lighting. Your eyes widened as you saw none other than JJ, Morgan, and Reid. Yes, the fictional characters were standing in front of you.

How was this even possible? You had to be dreaming, or maybe you were forgetting and you were at a very strange audition. Yes, that had to be it, logically.

"Good morning Sleeping Beauty. Rough night? I didn't think Reid's Doctor Who nights were that wild, I might have to tag along and chaperone you two next time." Morgan greeted with a teasing smirk.

"How late did you two go for last night?" JJ asked, leaning against the desk that you had been sleeping on, and sipping her coffee.

She directed the question to you, but you didn't remember this dialogue in the audition script. When you didn't answer, Spencer spoke up.

"She texted me when she got home safe at 9:43pm. I made sure she left early as the rain was starting up. Now, of course, she could have stayed up longer, but we continued to exchange texts until she texted me goodnight at 10:15pm."

"Goodnight texts? Remind me and JJ here why you two aren't dating again?" Morgan crossed his arms looking between you and Spencer.

You blinked, taking a chance to finally look around. There were no cameras in sight. Above you was a tiled ceiling with office lighting. No directors or normal-looking crew members were around.

"Matthew?" You asked, directing your question to a stuttering, red-faced Reid.

Everyone turned their attention back to you. Reid, or Matthew, raised his eyebrow at you. And turned to look if anyone was standing behind him that you could be talking to.

"Who is Matthew, Y/N?" He asks, cautiously.

Oh my god. I must be dreaming.

You stood up and slowly reached out to Reid, who was standing closest to you. You gently poked his cheek. He looked almost afraid at your actions.

"Spencer?" You lower your shaky hand. He felt real, he was standing in front of you. You could smell his morning coffee.

"Yeah?"

"Pinch me."

"What? Why?"

"So I know that I'm not dreaming." You could feel his eyes prodding you, profiling.

"Maybe we should get you to a doctor-"

You grabbed his wrist and placed his hand on your upper arm.

"Pinch me. Hard."

Spencer winced as he did what you asked of him. He obviously did not want to hurt you. You felt your nerves fire off in pulses of pain where he pinched. You sharply inhaled and he immediately dropped his hand.

"Oh my god," you stammered, "ohmygodohmygodohmygod."

This is real. Spencer Reid is real.

You slid back down in your chair and looked at an open mouthed JJ and Morgan, staring at you in shock.

"What kind of kinky shit are you two into?" Morgan narrowed his eyes at Reid.

"This is no time for teasing Derek. I think she's suffering from a concussion." JJ reached out, concerned, feeling your forehead for a fever.

"She doesn't have any visible signs of bruising. Y/N do you remember hitting your head on anything, or experiencing whiplash today?" Reid, growing serious turned your chair towards him, raking his fingers through your hair to check your scalp for any tender spots.

For a moment you had to stop yourself from sighing, it just felt nice, and it was Spencer.

"No I'm-I'm fine, my head feels fine." You answered.

"What's the last thing you remember doing?"

You bit your lip, should you answer him truthfully? How would you even explain something so illogical.

"I-I remember. I fell asleep on the couch watching tv." In a different reality.

"Do you think it's possible you rolled off of the couch in your sleep?"

You frowned to yourself.

"It's possible."

It's never happened before, but you suppose it would explain things. This was definitely a hallucination. Maybe it was one of those Spencer-centric dreams.

"Spence, I think you should take Y/N to the hospital. I'll cover for you with Hotch." JJ suggested.

Spencer nodded in agreement while Morgan looked worriedly at you. JJ got up from the desk to seek out Hotch in his office.

"Do you have your keys?" Spencer asked, still looking you over.

"Um-" you checked your pockets and sure enough found a ring of keys in your pants pocket. You dropped them into Spencer's outstretched hand.

"Can you walk?" Spencer's voice went softer.

You shivered as you did whenever you heard that tone on the show. He could make a living doing ASMR with that voice.

You stood with Spencer's unneeded, but much appreciated, help. He seemed to have no problem holding your hands to help you, something you considered to be out of character for the germaphobic Dr. Reid. Then again, the show did not go this long without it's occasional inconsistencies. Was your subconscious hallucination really thinking these things out?

You followed him to the elevator with ease, taking in your surroundings as you went. As the elevator doors closed, Spencer frowned at you once again.

"Your pupils have been dilated since you woke up." He spoke.

Yeah probably because the attractive genius I've been dreaming of for years is vividly realistic and talking to me.

"Is that a sign of head trauma?"

"Actually yes, you could be experiencing a sensitivity to light as a result of your head trauma. If that's the case, then you're in luck because it's been raining all day."

You followed Spencer out to your car, or at least you thought it was your car. You didn't exactly own one before dropping into this hallucination world. You were saving up for one, but didn't really need it as you lived close to your job and took public transit when you needed to go further distances. This car was nice, you supposed the dream BAU job payed well.

Spencer drove you to the hospital and waited in the waiting room as you received a full check up and MRI. You hoped he wasn't too bored waiting. As the doctor returned with your results you asked if Spencer could come in to hear the diagnosis. The doctor asked if he was family and you lied saying he was your fiancé. The doctor really didn't seem to care and Spencer was allowed in. He looked confident, prepared to discuss anything scientific that you may not understand yourself.

"Well Y/N, after reviewing your MRI scans and testing results, I can confidently assure you that you are perfectly healthy. We can order some blood tests for you if you wish, but from the concussion symptoms you thought you had, and from the results I have in front of me, I don't believe they are necessary." The doctor said with a smile, probably just happy to be delivering some good news.

"That can't be right." You shook your head and frowned.

"Y/N was clearly exhibiting fatigue, light sensitivity, memory loss, and confusion at work. If she's not concussed, what is wrong with her?" Spencer asked.

"I'd say your fiancé is simply experiencing the effects of exhaustion and a lack of sleep. My advice? Take her home and let her rest."

Spencer firmly shut his mouth as the doctor said "fiancé."

The doctor turned to you. "If you'd like, I can perscribe you a sleeping sedative."

You shook your head "no." You couldn't believe it; you'd slept at a reasonable hour, and you didn't feel fatigued.

Everything was starting to feel so real. The warmth of Spencer sitting so close to you felt real. The rain that fell on your skin felt real. The medicinal scent of the hospital made your feel sick. You could only think of one final way to try to wake up.

"Spencer can you stop somewhere for me?" You asked as he drove you home.

"Sure."

"Is there a lake near by?"

"Yeah...you don't remember? You've jogged on the trails near it with JJ and Morgan."

"Can you take me there? There's something I need to do."

You were beginning to grow used to the worried look on his face. The way his eyes softened reminded you of a puppy.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to you. If this was a dream concocted by your brain, wouldn't Spencer be a bit more romantic? In your dreams he could range from a hardcore, post-prison, genius, bad boy to a nerdy romantic, but he was always, obviously, interested in you right away. This Spencer seemed to be your friend, just your friend. By now he would've usually confessed his undying love and maybe taken you in the back seat of your car. Yeah, you weren't the most creative person. What kind of dream was this?

You felt a blush coming on as Spencer side-eyed you. Your brain would never torture you with a long-con, would it?

Spencer took you to the lake, walking beside you without a word, most likely thinking you were going crazy and in need of sleep. You walked to the edge of the trail and looked down at the lake. It was a ways down, the point you were standing was more like a cliff. You determined that the water must have been about a 6 second drop down for someone your size

"Y/N, why did you want me to take you out here?" Spencer asked as he eyed the waters below.

You stayed silent as you took a few steps back. You took a deep breath, and before you could second-guess yourself, you ran to the edge of the cliff and jumped.

"Y/N!" Was the last, panicked thing you heard before the body of water came rushing towards you.

Your body submerged in the icy cold water and sunk deep down from the speed at which you fell. All you could hear was the echoing pressure of the water against your eardrums. This was your last resort. You knew if anything could wake you up, it would be this, your biggest fear.

Your father had drowned, he worked on a fisherman's boat and a storm had overturned the ship far out in the ocean. All that had been recovered was assorted pieces of the ship's wreckage. You'd never even had the chance to learn how to swim as the fear had already settled in before your step-mother could arrange lessons.

If you could drown in this confusing dream-world, maybe you would wake up in time for your Criminal Minds audition.

Your lungs protested as you let yourself sink. You closed your eyes and let your muscles relax. Your head screamed at you, telling you that you absolutely should not be doing this. Fear prickled at your skin. Why did this feel like you were actually dying?

A heartbeat later, you heard the water's surface explode above you, but you didn't have the strength to look up. Your brain processed something wrapping around you and tugging you up, but you could not open your eyes to see what it was. You held on to your last bit of consciousness as you breeched the surface of the water and felt the chilly air assault your skin.

Arms pulled you somewhere. Your body was dragged up something solid, the backs of your legs scraped against rocks. It must have been land. Hands applied pressure, pushing like a heartbeat against your center, you could hardly feel it. A hand held your mouth open while another pinched your nose closed. Lips pushed, rushed, against your own as air was forced back into you. The hand left your mouth and returned to pumping.

"Come on. Come back to me Y/N. Please." Pleading followed by more air.

The strange entity repeated the process once more before you felt everything come up, forcing you back to reality.

You coughed and choked up water and bile; the rain washed it all away. Your lungs were aching and your skin was ice cold. The only warmth was what lingered from the person's lips. A hand pat and rubbed your back, helping you cough up everything. When it was all over your whole body was shivering. Your muscles gave out and a pair of arms wrapped around you, holding you up.

"Y/N."

You weakly turned your head.

Spencer. He's still here. He's really here.

He was soaked, hair ringlets stuck to his face, and his eyes were rimmed red. He looked like an angel, hand carved by Michelangelo himself.

Your brain was trying to catch up with his words.

"Y/N, I need to get you back to the car before we both go into hypothermia. Can you walk?" He asked through chattering teeth.

Your throat was killing you, so you opted for just shaking your head "no" in response.

"I'll have to carry you then, okay?"

You nodded, doubtful he could, especially in his weakened state.

He stood, grabbing his bearings before scooping you up. You weakly held his neck and lay your head on his shoulder. Your pain was numbed, you knew, from the biting cold.

Spencer managed to carry you all the way back to the car, placing you gently in the backseat and turning the heat all the way up. He climbed in the backseat with you and began to remove his jacket and tie.

"We have to remove our clothes, they're soaking wet and we have to warm up. Do you need me to help you undress?" There was no hint of teasing or slyness in Spencer's voice. He was completely serious and you knew he was right.

"I-I can't. Everything is numb." You managed to croak out, wincing at the pain it brought your throat.

"Alright, um- I'll only remove your shirt and pants."

You nodded, weakly.

Spencer removed his own shirt before carefully lifting yours over your head. He made sure to keep his eyes on your face as much as possible and not linger his gaze anywhere else. Next he removed your shoes, socks, and peeled your pants down your legs. You managed to arch your back slightly to help him. Lastly, he removed his own pants and threw all the clothes in a pile on the floor of you car.

"I'm going to hold you now, if that's alright. We need each other's body heat." Spencer looked less confident now. You managed to nod a "yes."

If you weren't so close to death, you knew your brain would be shorting out at the thought of being held by a half-naked, and very real, Spencer Reid.

He helped you lay down across the seats and settled in next to you. He wrapped his arms around you and rubbed his hands along your shoulders and back in an effort to warm you and massage your tensed muscles.

A few minutes of this went by before you could finally move. You wrapped your arms around Spencer, holding him close as his body warmed your own, and you cried against his chest.

One thought repeated over and over again in your head.

This is real.

You worked for the BAU and Spencer Reid had just saved your life. 

Next Chapter

[marvels-agents100]

the thing about love

volume I

sure, it could hurt you, baby, but give a little try

pairing: aaron hotchner x gender neutral ! reader

warnings: gore, death, blood, aaron is sad and traumatized, reader is shot, the usual,,, reader attempts to seduce a man at one point

word count: 14,685 (grab a snack, babes)

author’s note: welcome to  s l o w b u r n  central, also, this is currently my pride and joy, my lil babey, please love her

You knew he wasn’t yours to have. His heart had left him long ago, locked in a box in the back corner of his closet, leaving behind a dark void between the cobwebbed bars of his ribs, his burdened breaths a soft echo inside his chest. The only love, the only care he felt he was really capable of was the love he held for Jack. And yet, he laid in bed every night and wished the silk of his sheets would cover him completely, swallowing him into wherever he went when he fell asleep, locking the door behind him and losing the key. The guilt alone was eating him alive- how dare he feel exhausted for loving his son?- and it never left his mind, no matter how focused he was on a case. The lack of compartmentalization was something that would take time to get used to.

You saw it on his face, every time the glass door to the BAU swung open with the push of a heavy arm, every time the lines under his eyes became darker and deeper, every time he sighed like the sorrow and darkness that plagued his mind had leaned upon his shoulders once more. It killed you to see the weight he carried every day; you couldn’t begin to imagine how he felt. What completely broke the beat within your chest was how much you wished you could help, yet you knew he would never let you.

That was, until he did.

You had joined the BAU after Elle left, also specializing in sex crimes. The team is your family, your life, and everything in between. You watched them rise and fall, love and lose, laugh and cry. And every time one of you needed help, the others were there to support each other. It was a beautiful, wonderful thing, the BAU. And that beautiful, wonderful thing also included a certain Aaron Hotchner. Most of the team were too intimidated to ever really try prying into Hotch’s psyche, especially since Hailey died. However, one particular day, you couldn’t stop yourself.

Your knuckles tapped gently on the door to his office, your ear close to the wood, listening for a response. The blinds had been drawn the entire day, and hours had passed since the rest of the team had departed. If you didn’t know better, you would worry if Aaron was even alive in his office.

“Come in,” his voice rumbled, the words slipping past his lips with a small sigh.

You opened the door cautiously, first looking inside, then fully stepping in. It shut behind you with a soft click, Aaron’s eyes never looking up from the file before him. His left hand lazily dragged out a signature along the bottom of the page. Your arms tightened around the small stack of files you held in your arms- a compilation of yours, Spencer’s, and Emily’s.

You cleared your throat softly, “Hotch,” you greeted, a polite smile on your lips as his gaze finally flickered up to you, “this is all the work from Spence, Emily, and I on the Atlanta case.” 

“You can leave it on the table there,” he gestured towards a small end table with his pen, before returning to his writing, “thank you.”

You nodded, setting the stack of papers down softly, stealing a glance at him before turning and making your way back to the door. Your hand hesitated as it reached for the knob, your heart begging you to turn around and talk to him, comfort him, absolutely anything to just help him.

He noticed your hesitation, your frozen stance by the door catching his attention. He sat up fully, his pen dropping on the desk as his brows knitted together.

“Is there something else, (Y/L/N)?”

Your outstretched and hovering hand slowly closed to a fist, your eyes shutting as you realized there was no way to play this off without him being suspicious. You turned to him, meeting his gaze and trying to keep from caving under his intense stare.

“Actually,” your hands ran down your pant legs, and you found yourself finding a seat across from him, “there… there is.”

He leaned forward on the desk, his expression still studying you, but his voice softening as he recognized how nervous you were, “What’s going on?”

“Sir,” you began, having trouble meeting his eyes, “I don’t want to overstep, and I know you’re a private person, but you’ve been in this office all day with the blinds shut and the door closed and- well, I’m sure I speak for the whole team right now- but we’re worried that you’re not okay, and if you wanted to talk- not that you’d need to, I’m sure you can work through a lot on your own, being knowledgeable in psychology and all-“

“(Y/N).” He cut off your rambling, your eyes finally snapping to his when he said your name. He paused for a beat before continuing, “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

You sighed, trying to not be discouraged by his complete avoidance of your question.

“What’s going on, Hotch?” You asked softly. He looked down at his hands, sighing deeply.

“It’s nothing you have to worry about,” he shook his head slightly as he spoke.

“But I do. And I will. I worry, you know that.” You gave him a small smile when his gaze lifted back to you. He returned it for only a moment before it dropped away from his lips.

“It’s just…” he took another breath, “it would’ve… it would’ve been her birthday today.”

As his voice croaked out those words, you felt the beating of your heart stop. The physical ache made you drop your head for a moment, just to catch your breath.

“I’m so sorry, I-“

“It’s okay.” He interrupted you again, “I know it’s been a while now, and I’ve been able to make peace, for the most part. But, every time today comes around, or Christmas, Thanksgiving- hell, whenever any holiday comes around- he always… Jack always-“

He couldn’t finish his sentence, his hand coming to rest against the bridge of his nose, catching the tears that threatened to spill over. Your head tilted as you watched him, tears of your own beginning to gloss your eyes.

“He asks about her, doesn’t he?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

Aaron sniffled, letting a deep breath straighten his back again as he tried to compose himself.

He nodded, “Yeah, he does,” he scoffed and shook his head, “I never know what to say.” The chuckle that fell from his lips was humorless, just a sad acknowledgment of how pathetic he felt.

“God, Aaron, who would?” Your once hesitant hand reached forward and rested upon his, “You are living in a situation with Jack that no one could have prepared you for, one that no one will ever have the answers for.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” He joked, a single laugh escaping as he used his free hand to wipe away a tear. You let out a watery chuckle, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Yes, because despite the fact that there isn’t a single parenting manual on raising a kid like Jack, everything that you have figured out on your own has made him into the wonderful little boy he is.” You smiled at him, “You are an amazing father. The world deserves more dads that are like you.”

He gave your hand a squeeze, a real, genuine smile gracing his lips. A moment passed before he spoke again.

“Thank you, (Y/N), I appreciate you checking in on me.”

“We were all worried, sir.” You replied, “And we all know you don’t really talk about the dark, stormy thoughts that bounce around that head of yours,” he chuckled at that, “but, I felt like you needed to know: we’re always here. I’m always here. If you want to talk, if you want me to talk and distract your thoughts, if you just need the presence of someone in the room- no matter what it is- I’m here.”

He nodded once, eyes never leaving yours, “Thank you.” His voice was much quieter now.

You gave his hand a pat and stood, smoothing down your pants with your palms.

“Anytime.”

He stood as well, circling his desk to open the door to the office. You were close behind, stopping short when the door didn’t open. Aaron’s hand was stagnant on the knob, his eyes locked on yours.

“What is it?” You asked, a confused look on your face.

“I-“ he paused, then shook his head and opened the door, “have a good night, (Y/N).”

You nodded politely, choosing to ignore his behavior, knowing he had already made himself vulnerable enough for the night.

“You too, sir.”

***

“(Y/N), Spence, we have a case.” JJ breezed by the two of you, heading for the conference room. You were hovering over Spencer’s shoulder, his hand scribbling on the beaten pages of a legal pad. It was his idea, attempting to solve the Zodiac’s cypher. He could pick out patterns with a single glance, and you were able to add the small, less logical and structured details that his analytical mind always seemed to miss.

Needless to say, neither of you had figured anything out. It was simply a way to pass down time.

Upon entering the conference room, Spencer close behind, you found your seat between Emily and Derek. Penelope began pulling images onto the screen, her brightly colored fingernails tapping softly on her tablet. You leaned back in your chair, toes rocking it ever so lightly back and forth, back and forth. Hotch was the last to arrive only seconds later, his presence alone notifying you of his arrival. He had a way of making himself known before speaking a single word.

“Garcia,” he urged, signaling for her to begin.

“Alright,” she began, the unmistakable sunshine leaking through her words, “giddy up, cow boys and girls, you’re headed to Houston!”

You had to hold back your giggle- it sounded like she was pitching a dream vacation.

“Unfortunately, it’s not to attend the rodeo, but to find who killed these three men in the past month.” Three pictures flashed onto the screen, the bodies of three victims displaying before the BAU. “The bodies of Tyee, Kele, and Dakota were found three weeks, two weeks, and almost one week ago.”

“Why are we just now being called in?” You asked.

Garcia sighed, almost sadly, “Police claim to have not seen a connection, but others living on the reservation say that police didn’t try to.”

A pause fell over the room, the only movement being Derek’s head shaking slightly in disappointment.

“Cause of death?” Hotch asked, breaking the small silence.

"They were all shot once in the chest, then- and this is an image that will never leave my mind- were scalped. If that wasn’t enough gross and icky for you, they were all missing their left thumb.”

“Tyee Begaye, Kele Etcitty, Dakota Nez. All mid 30’s, all Native American, all living in the Alabama-Coushatta reservation. The similarity between them all makes me think they could be surrogates,” Morgan stated, his fingers carding through the file before him.

“What are they wearing?” Emily asked, referring to the burlap and tan clothing that, frankly, looked like a cheap and offensive Halloween costume.

“That, my lovely Emily, would be an attempt at traditional Native clothing.” Garcia replied, “Strong emphasis on attempt.”

“The scalping indicates that the Unsub is probably white, since the textbooks teach that it was purely a Native ritual. In reality, it was a white governor who offered rewards for ‘Indian scalps’.” Your fingers made air quotes around your words, “Maybe we have a white supremacist who is trying to seek some twisted form of revenge.”

“The missing thumb interests me,” Rossi thinks out loud, “is there a ritual or tradition that involves the thumb?”

“Not necessarily,” Spencer spoke, “however, the now disbanded Atakapa tribe lived along the Gulf of Mexico, until an epidemic nearly killed the entirety of the tribe in the late 18th century. They believed in life after death, and anyone who died by a snakebite, or whose corpse was eaten by another human, would be denied that afterlife.” 

“Why would our Unsub be displaying rituals from a tribe that doesn’t exist?” JJ questioned.

“That’s a question we can answer on the plane,” Hotch stood from his chair, “if our Unsub sticks to his timeline, we have two days to find him before he kills again. Wheels up in 30.”

***

Discussion on the plane wasn’t leading very far, mostly because of the lack of information the team had on the murders. It was abundantly clear that local authorities, or at least the particular officers that had investigated the murders, didn’t take much interest in actually finding who had commit them. It was incredibly frustrating, knowing that you and your team could be miles closer to finding a serial killer if prejudice didn’t stand in the way of justice.

You pushed those thoughts away, knowing that thinking too hard about it would just infuriate you. There wasn’t time to be angry, you had to focus.

“Why the outfits?” Rossi asked, “These men are clearly Native American, why feel the need to dress them in stereotypical clothing?”

“It has to be a part of the fantasy,” JJ answers, “they look like they’re characters from a western.”

“What time period was traditional clothing like this worn?” Emily inquired, her eyes never leaving the file in front of her.

“When forced assimilation of the 19th and 20th centuries began, traditional clothing stopped being made in the name of appeasing the powers that be,” Spencer began, fingers wiggling with his words, “Most traditional, Native American fashion designers began making clothing only for certain celebrations and rituals, exclusively for personal use. It wasn’t until 1934 that the passage of the Indian Reorganization Act began to encourage the production of traditional clothing once more. The patterns and weaving we see in modern fashion today all began in 1942, when Native American fashion was featured in a high profile fashion show, and instead of being discouraged, was appreciated. Most designers use their Native roots to assimilate traditional textile with modern trends in order to reach a larger audience.”

“So clothing like this isn’t mass produced?” Morgan asked.

“Unless it’s close to October 31st, no,” Spencer answered.

“It’s August, there’s no way he purchased these almost a year ago, he wouldn’t have been able to control his urges for that long.” Emily shook her head, completely baffled.

“Maybe he’s making them?” You offered, doubt in your voice, “I mean, they don’t exactly look well made.”

“He could be ordering them online,” Hotch countered.

“Alright, alright,” JJ interrupted, “I think the significance lies in what the costumes are supposed to mean. He’s calling back to before the 19th century. What fantasy is exclusive to that time frame and involves Native Americans?”

“If we had more information on the killing itself, I feel like a lot of these questions would be answered,” Dave’s voice was laced with frustration. 

“I agree,” Hotch began, “Prentiss, Morgan, I want you to talk to the ME, try to find absolutely anything that wasn’t reported. David, (Y/L/N), go to the newest scene and see if you can add to the reports as well. Reid, JJ, and I will go set up at the station, start interviewing families and the officers that were on the original scenes. We need to get all the information they neglected to share,” Hotch directed, approving nods coming from the rest of the team.

“And if they try to stop us?” Morgan asked, Hotch giving him a confused look.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“Look, when I was with the Chicago PD, I saw this kind of prejudice within my own precinct. Bad cops won’t stop being bad cops just because we’re in their jurisdiction.”

Hotch paused a moment before speaking.

“Our job is to build a profile and catch whoever is doing this,” he began, “and we are going to do that, even if a bad cop- or anyone, for that matter- tries to get in our way. We’ve dealt with worse than this; I have faith that this team can still perform successfully.”

Morgan nodded in agreement, but you knew he still had his doubts, “Yes, sir.”

You all had dispersed through the jet, Emily and Spencer fiddling with a chess board between them, Morgan and Rossi both listening to music and staring dramatically through the window, and JJ flipping through her file in her own space, reading and rereading every word until her eyes ached. It was a habit, she knew, trying to memorize every detail of the case in order to justify her decision to present it to the team. Although choosing cases was no longer her responsibility, she still found herself with the guilt of not being able to help every person whose name was written in manila files on her desk. 

You sat across from Hotch, him close to the window, your feet propped up on his unused armrest. You hummed lowly to yourself while glancing over the file, fingers tapping against the manila to the beat of your voice.

“You know,” Hotch spoke up, “if you ruin this seat with your shoes, it’s coming out of your paycheck.”

Your humming stopped and your eyes snapped up to him, catching the small smirk on the corner of his mouth, the smirk that he tried in vain to play off as he kept his gaze trained on the open file in his hand. A smirk of your own tugged at your lips, the papers in your grip falling lazily into your lap.

“You mess with my check, Hotchner, and I will consider you an enemy,” You threatened, your finger pointing at him to emphasize your words.

He shrugged casually, eyes lifting to meet yours, “I’ll add you to the list.”

Your angry resolve broke, a chuckle leaving your lips. Although his joking caught you off guard slightly, it all was oddly comfortable. His shoulders weren’t tight like they usually were, his eyebrows weren’t tensed, and his frown had disappeared. Usually, his rare humor would throw the whole team for a loop, but when it was just you and Hotch, there was just something so natural about it.

“Yeah, put my name right between ‘going to bed at a decent hour’ and ‘smiling’.” You retorted, narrowing your eyes and giving him nothing less than a shit-eating grin. 

His face dropped from the sly smirk to stone-cold in a split second, causing your smile to grow even wider.

“How did you know that?” He asked quietly. You laughed then, a full, joyful laughter. You didn’t see how his smile had returned, and his softened gaze stayed trained on you.

“I guess you could say I’m good at my job,” You replied, wiping under your eye as you caught your breath.

“Now that,” he pointed at you, “is something I can’t deny.”

You smiled again, but genuinely. It almost made you blush, him inadvertently saying that you were good at your job. He didn’t compliment people too often, but when he did, it was always completely genuine and special.

“But I will still make you pay for this seat.”

“Yeah, okay,” you giggled, waving your hand dismissively at him.

***

The crackle of dirt and gravel under your soles mixed with the bustling of law enforcement around you. Rossi walked close by, both of you stopping as you reached the true crime scene. He sighed deeply as his eyes scanned over the red stain in the terra-cotta colored dirt, trying to not think about how little the uniforms around him cared about the life that stain had once provided.

“It’s pretty desolate out here,” you stated, purposely keeping your eyes up as you scanned the mountains around you, “the Unsub definitely knows this place, he’s familiar with it.”

“That means he’s probably local,” David agreed, eyes never leaving the dried blood on the ground, “(Y/N), look at this and tell me what you see.”

Your eyes finally flickered down to the blood, your hands finding home in your pockets in an attempt to hide your clenching fists.

“It’s…” your voice trailed off, your head tilting slightly as you realized what David was hinting at, “It’s… small. Dakota was shot, this all just looks like blood lost from the scalping and the removal of the thumb.”

“Which means,” Rossi added, “this is just a dumpsite. He’s taking them to a secondary location.”

“How long between the missing person’s reports and the discovery of their bodies?”

“Hours, no more than a day.”

You sighed, stepping closer and lowering yourself towards the ground, elbows resting on your knees. “So, he’s not holding them, but he’s shooting them in a secondary location before bringing them to these mountains, and dumping them.” You stood again, turning to David, “Why?”

His head shook slightly, “Possibly a forensic countermeasure. If he were to shoot them here, he could leave behind casings, splatter patterns… more evidence than what we have now, at least.”

You glanced one last time at the ground before beginning to walk towards the SUV. “I think we should get back and tell them what we’ve found.”

Rossi got into the driver’s side while you settled in next to him, a matching frown on both of your faces. You looked out the window, allowing your mind to drift away from the case. Usually, you stopped straying thoughts before they could begin, but you decided to set them free for the duration of the car ride back to the station. Upon arrival, your mind was to be strictly business.

You first thought of Hotch. You thought of the exchange you had a few weeks prior, where he opened himself up to you, even if it was just a fraction of the feelings he kept bottled up inside. Things had shifted, at least in your perspective, since then. He was more… himself. When there wasn’t a case- those few and far between days of strictly paperwork- you would find him smiling a little more, always directed at you. It was always just a tilt of his lips, just a twitch at best, but you always noticed it. He would find you in the break room, he would make light conversation. It was always professional, always appropriate in his position of Unit Chief, but you knew it was more personal. 

Maybe it was your wishful thinking, maybe it was all made up by your own habit of overanalyzing. But, the physical reaction you had whenever those small moments of warm sunshine burst through the dark curtain of SSA Aaron Hotchner, the way your stomach turned and your cheeks ignited, now that… that was not constructed by your mind. That was a real, true reaction to a man you (apparently) liked a little more than you originally thought.

“Penny for your thoughts?” David cut your wondering short, and you were almost thankful for it.

“Hm?” You acknowledged, snapping out of your daze.

“Call me a profiler,” he chuckled, “but I know when you’re thinking too hard. Is something bothering you?”

“No, no,” you denied, a small laugh leaving your lips, “just, trying to stay focused on this case.”

“Hm.” He hummed, obviously not believing you. “Is it about the 16th?”

Your eyes snapped to him, his gaze holding steady on the road in front of him. A breath of pause added to the sudden tension in the air.

“How do you know about that?”

“Anytime Aaron Hotchner cries, you can be sure that I will know about it.”

You sunk back into your chair as another beat of silence filled the SUV. Honestly, you had no clue how to talk about the situation between you and Hotch. And frankly, you didn’t know if there even was a situation, it could all be made up in your head. Telling Rossi that you have the hots for your boss wouldn’t fix any problems you currently faced, it would only create new ones.

“I just want to see him happy,” you whispered, keeping your eyes forward.

“He is happy-“

“I mean, truly happy, Dave,” your head rolled towards him, his shoulders dropping slightly as he understood what you meant. He sighed heavily, readjusting his grip on the wheel.

“I think he lost that when he lost her, (Y/N), I don’t think he will ever go back to who he was before,” he sounded so sad, admitting that the man he considered family would never see a light he once knew.

“Maybe,” you agreed, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t try like hell to help him find it again.”

Dave glanced at you, a small smile tilting his lips up, “I think you’re the perfect person for the job.”

***

You had arrived just as Emily and Derek did, Hotch and the Captain of the station coming to meet you at the door.

“Captain McGuire, this is SSA Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), and David Rossi.” Aaron introduced. The captain politely shook all of your hands.

“Thank you all for coming,” his words were borderline disingenuous, but you smiled politely and let it go.

“We’ve got some news to share,” Dave said, turning towards Hotch. He responded with a nod before turning and leading the four of you to the Houston PD conference room, where Spencer and JJ were already waiting. Everyone stood around the table, unable to sit down with how uneasy the case felt.

“Everything here is just as you would imagine,” JJ began, clearly irritated, “these officers didn’t care enough to properly investigate these murders.”

“All of the families said that our victims were well respected, got along with other people, nothing too out of the ordinary,” Hotch added, his arms crossing over his chest as he looked at the evidence board.

“Dave and I think they’re being held in a secondary location,” you stated, everyone’s eyes turning to you. Your gaze met Aaron’s as you continued, “There wasn’t nearly enough blood at the scene for a man to have been shot there.”

“Forensic countermeasure?” Hotch inquired.

“That’s our guess.”

“Well,” Emily sighed, “I guess that makes more sense. The ME said the scalping and thumb removal was antemortem. The last step of his fantasy was shooting his victims. This guy would need somewhere to torture his victims without anyone hearing it.”

“I had Garcia do a search for any trespassing or squatting complaints around the mountains where the bodies were found, just to see if any witnesses saw the Unsub while he was disposing of his victims. There wasn’t anything significant,” Spencer chimed in.

“I’m starting to think this guy has more experience than we might think,” Morgan said, “he’s able to abduct, control, and torture grown men, then dispose of their bodies quietly.”

“What does that mean?” JJ asked.

“It means there’s probably more victims,” Hotch was storming out of the room as he spoke. You were close behind him.

“Spence, call Penelope, have her start digging!” you quickly spoke, hurrying to keep up with Hotch. You weren’t sure why, but you knew he was furious. He must have put something together before you.

“Hotch, Hotch!” You hissed, jogging lightly to catch up to him. “Aaron!” You finally stood in front of him, his angry steps halting before he could run you over, but his glare still trained on the door to Captain McGuire’s office.

Your hands hovered in front of you, level with his chest. You scanned his face, seeing nothing but anger in the way he glared over your shoulder.

“What is going on?” You asked quietly, teeth clenched together. It was then that his eyes flickered to you for a fraction of a second, a deep breath leaving his lungs. His shoulders lost some tension and his eyes closed, his attempt at calming himself clearly visible.

“We know this station is riddled with cops who don’t care about justice for anyone of Native descent,” he began, his voice low and dangerous, “how many people have died without justice? How many were at the hands of the same Unsub we’re trying to catch?”

“Hotch,” you tread carefully, “believe me when I say I am equally as furious as you. However, you, of all people, know that storming into that office right now will only cause more problems. We are surrounded by people who don’t care if we leave here successful or not, and the Captain may be a part of that group. We need to be smart about this.”

He huffed, but he knew you were right. It was a bit out of character, him getting so upset without being able to control it. He noticed that since Hailey had died, his emotions were a little stronger and a little harder to control, especially when it came to his job. His need for justice made him do things he would have never done when she was alive.

Was it a fault or strength?

“How do you propose we do that?” He asked, his voice more gentle than before.

“Let me go in there, break the news,” you offered, “if that man is anything like who I think he is, I could bat my eyes and get anything I want from him.”

Aaron’s gaze shifted from you, to the office, then to you again. “Okay,” he finally agreed, “in and out. Be careful.”

“Yes, sir,” you grinned, turning and walking towards the Captain’s office. You glanced back over your shoulder, seeing Hotch in the same exact spot you left him. Sending him a small wink, you reached the door and let yourself inside.

Hotch took another deep breath as you disappeared into the office, once again trying to calm himself. He had faith in you, he knew you could handle yourself, but the thought of that man- any other man, in fact- looking at you in the way he knew that Captain was going to look at you… well, that made him furious all over again. It was completely inappropriate, he knew, but he knew it wasn’t something that was within his control. He had just been feeling a greater sense- a greater need- to protect you, to make sure you were okay. He, himself, had a lot of questions about it. Why was he feeling this way? When did it start? Am I even able to feel this way again? Of course, he didn’t have any answers to his own questions. It always seemed to be that way. So many questions, all unanswered.

Despite his better judgment, he turned towards the conference room, fighting the bubbling anger in his chest.

***

The door clicked closed behind you, Captain McGuire’s eyes shifting from his paperwork to your face, then dragging down your body. You cleared your throat, your heartbeat already picking up slightly. You weren’t nervous, you knew you could take him down in a second if need be, but the way he looked at you like you were an object almost made you see red.

“Agent (Y/L/N), please, have a seat,” he gestured to the chair across from his desk.

“Thank you,” you spoke quietly, sitting down and crossing your legs, “I just came to discuss something quickly.”

“Of course, what is it?” He leaned forward on his elbows, a sign that he did, in fact, like you. You already knew that, of course, but the confirmation did make you a bit more confident.

“You see, we seem to think that this particular Unsub didn’t start killing three weeks ago. We think there’s previous cases,” you kept your voice soft, playing up an innocence you found that all men had some form of attraction to. 

“With all due respect, I think I would remember a case like this.” He held his hand up as he talked in a way of dismissing you. You knew you could either snap at him and get kicked out, or play along and possibly get what you want. You had to feed into his ego.

“Oh, absolutely,” you agreed, uncrossing your legs and leaning forward, elbows resting on your knees. It gave him a full view, so to speak, and his eyes shifted exactly here you wanted them to. So predictable. “I would never insult your intelligence like that, sir,” he seemed to perk up at that nickname, “we’re just asking that you do a review with your officers, maybe someone will remember something they didn’t before?”

His eyes met yours again, and he had to clear his throat before he talked.

“Anything you need,” he was trying to flirt back now.

“Thank you, sir,” with a smirk, you stood and walked out, feeling the eyes of Captain McGuire follow you the entire way. As soon as the door was completely shut, you felt a chill run down your spine and you let yourself shiver. 

You really hoped your flirting would get you something.

***

“Garcia, I need you to look for any cases within the Houston area that might be linked to these,” Spencer spoke into the phone.

“I already have, my little Einstein,” Garcia’s voice crackled through the speaker, “there’s nothing that looks like these.”

“They’re gonna be hidden, babygirl,” Morgan pressed, “details might have been left out in the case files. Send us anything that has even the smallest connection.”

“I’m going to need more time for that, love,” she sighed, nothing but disappointed in Houston authorities.

“Work fast for me, baby.”

“Oh, my beautiful, brown Hercules, do I work at any other speed?” She spoke seductively, earning a few smiles from the intensely frustrated team surrounding the phone.

“You never disappoint,” Morgan cooed, taking the phone and hanging up the call.

Hotch reached the room shortly after the call, everyone’s eyes snapping towards him as he entered. He looked over his team, eyebrows pulled downward, expression stone-cold.

“Are you okay, sir?” JJ asked bravely, her voice soft and understanding.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, “anything from Garcia?”

And just like that, Derek began to update Hotch on what Penelope was searching for, and all was forgotten. Hotch was good at that- making everyone forget about what he was feeling. The question he dreaded most was also the question he heard the most- are you okay? He would hear those three words and immediately have to find an escape, and excuse, as to why he couldn’t quite answer them. His feelings were ones that were felt only by him, shared only to the family picture he kept on his nightstand. It was comfortable, easy, and it kept him away from vulnerability.

He made sure he was facing towards the door of Captain McGuire while he worked, his gaze constantly flickering upwards and out the window of the conference room, hoping to find you there every time. When you finally emerged, he could tell how uncomfortable you were. You let yourself shiver, taking a moment to breathe before moving towards the conference room. Hotch made sure to meet you at the door.

“Anything?” He asked as soon as the door shut behind you. You sighed heavily before answering.

“He said he will reopen some cases and do some debriefing, but I honestly don’t think we will be getting much out of it.”

His eyes closed and he shook his head in disappointment. “Okay,” he finally spoke, “we’re on our own here.”

“Hotch, come look at this,” Derek called, pulling Aaron’s attention away from you. He hurried to Morgan, looking at the photograph held between them.

You moved towards the table and began working, praying to any God, any higher being, that something- anything- would catch a lead in the case.

***

“If I read one more file before I get a cup of coffee, I just might rip it to shreds,” you muttered, shoving your eyes into the heels of your hands. Your elbows rested heavily on the conference table you sat at, the many, many reviewed files scattered between you and the rest of the team. Analyzing them for any connections had been nothing short of tedious and time consuming.

It had been hours now, and nothing new had come to light. The sun had fallen asleep long ago, dipping behind the mountains, leaving a path of stars in its wake. The moon shone fully, the soft white blanketing Houston in a gentle embrace. You wished you could be sitting on the balcony of your apartment, staring at the twinkling of the stars and bathing in the cool air, your only warmth coming from a cup of hot tea gently resting in your hands. Instead, you were staring at pictures of dead men, trying to get ahead of a killer that was many, many steps ahead of you.

“Spence, have you found anything?” JJ asked, her voice sounding just as exhausted as you felt. 

“I’ve read every file at least twice now,” he sighed, “I’m sorry, I can’t find any connections.”

“Don’t apologize, you’re doing everything you can,” you scolded softly, pointing a lazy finger towards him.

“Thank you,” he spoke gently, a thankful smile on his lips.

Your eyes returned to the papers before you, scanning over a single sentence before you gave up, “Why are we still looking, anyways? What do you think we’re going to find when- and if- we find any more victims?” Your hands accented your words, your frustration abundantly clear.

“MO,” Morgan answered shortly, “we need to know how this Unsub started- when he was still learning how to kill, when he was discovering what he liked most. That’s when he first made his mistakes.”

“Okay,” Rossi chimed in, “but how do we know that those cases were fully investigated? What if they’re just as neglected as the three we already have?”

Morgan sighed and ran a hand down his face, looking utterly defeated, “I don’t know.”

The ringing of Morgan’s cell phone caught everyone’s attention. He answered quickly, putting it on speaker.

“What’d you find, baby? You’re on speaker,” He asked.

“I’m sorry to report that I haven’t found much of anything,” Garcia said, “I mean, there are lots and lots of middle-aged, Native American men dying- which breaks my heart into very little, tiny pieces- but nothing that fits into our timeline or modus operandi.”

“Try expanding to neighboring states,” Emily recommended.

“I already did, sweet Emily,” Garcia sighed, “nothing.”

“Alright,” Morgan sighed, eyes closing as he exhaled, “keep searching, babygirl. Let us know if anything pops up.”

“Of course,” she sounded just as disappointed, “heads up, loves, we will find something.” Morgan hung up, setting his phone down before dragging a hand down his face.

Hotch’s file flipped shut in his hands, the fluttering catching the team’s attention, “We need to take a step back. Looking over the same words won’t get us any further.”

“What do you suggest we do?” Dave asked.

“Take an hour. Get coffee, food, whatever you need,” Hotch stood from his chair, straightening his suit jacket, “I wish we could stop for the day and return tomorrow, but we don’t have that kind of time.”

You stood, stretching your arms above your head, “Well,” your arms dropped to your sides, “I’ll take an hour. Hell, I would take 15 minutes. Any time for a mental break would be beneficial, at this point.”

“There’s a 24 hour pizza shop one block east,” JJ pointed out, “want to grab a bite there?”

“I’m in,” Derek stood.

“Me too,” Spencer agreed, rising as well.

“Pizza sounds so good right now,” Emily whined.

“Only if it is authentic,” Dave wagered, “(Y/N)? Hotch?”

“If I get full right now, I will definitely pass out,” you chuckled, “you guys go ahead.”

“Hotch?” Dave repeated.

“I’m okay, thank you,” his lips twitched into a polite smile for only a moment, then it was gone once again.

“Suit yourselves,” Derek teased, sending the two of you a dazzling smile as the rest of the team left the conference room.

You dared to peek over at Hotch, watching as his eyes looked back down at the numerous open files in his workstation. He even picked one up from the table to get a closer look.

“This break includes you, you know,” you said, smirking when his eyes jumped from the page to you. He set down the file again, a sigh falling from his lips.

“I don’t think I could take a break from this one, even if I wanted to,” he shook his head slightly as he spoke, arms crossing over his chest. A small silence filled the room.

“Okay,” you sighed, “I’m going to get us some coffee- good coffee, from the store across the street- and maybe some food, then we can sit and look over some of these together. Maybe we can find things together that we can’t find alone.”

He nodded, pulling out his chair and settling into it, “I would appreciate that, thank you.”

You smiled, nodding once in his direction. His eyes were already back on the files before you had even turned to leave. Something about this case bothered him, deeply, and you were almost certain you knew what it was. 

Ever since Foyet came and destroyed nearly everything Aaron loved, particular cases weighed on his mind a bit heavier. It all came down to justice. Hotch couldn’t stand to see anyone or anything come in the way of true justice. You weren’t completely sure as to how Hailey’s death or George Foyet could have sparked this, you only knew of how angry Aaron would get now if anyone stood in his way.

You entered the corner store, heading straight to the hot coffee by the drink station. The fluorescent lighting only irritated the headache you had been fighting for the past hour, but you just ignored the pain as you came to a stop in front of the industrial sized coffee maker. You pulled two large, styrofoam cups from the dispenser, filling one to the very top with rich, black coffee, for Hotch. The steam billowing from the cup made your lips twitch up into a smile, the thought of caffeine beginning to change your mood for the better. Quickly making your own cup of self motivation, you moved towards the check out counter, the employee behind it looking just as tired as you felt.

“Just those?” She asked, finger already tapping away on the screen before her. You pulled a PayDay (Aaron’s favorite candy bar), from the small display on the counter and placed it next to the coffees.

“And that,” you answered politely, “thank you.” Your eyes wandered over the small keychains and magnets displayed on the counter. Most read ‘HOUSTON’ in large, colorful lettering, while others were decorated with horses and huge, green fields. Your head tilted as you looked, and a particular keychain caught your eye.

It was silver, sparkling subtly in the harsh lighting. You reached out and pulled it from behind the ‘HOUSTON’ keychains, the small cowboy hat resting on the ends of your fingers. Your eyebrows furrowed as you thought, becoming completely entranced by the small trinket.

“That one’s real popular,” the employee drawled, her southern accent pulling at her words, “everyone wants to be a cowboy, these days.”

“I see,” you replied quietly, still staring at the keychain. 

“It’ll be $2.38 for those coffees and candy, ma’am.”

You shook your head, snapping out of your trance, “Yes, of course, sorry.” A nervous laugh left your lips as you reached for your wallet, the silver hat falling away from your hand. Quickly handing her a five dollar bill, you grabbed the coffee cups and candy bar before she even managed to open the register. “Keep the change, thank you!”

You almost ran out the door, needing to get to Hotch immediately.

***

“Hotch!” You all but burst into the conference room, kicking the door shut behind you, “I think I might have something!”

He looked up at you, slightly startled by your sudden entrance (but he would never admit it), “What is it?” 

You almost laughed at how calm he sounded in comparison to how loudly your heart was pounding in your ears. Promptly setting his coffee and PayDay in front of him, you yanked a chair over until the armrest clinked against Hotch’s chair, then sat and set your own coffee down.

“Remember what JJ said about the costumes, on the plane?” You asked excitedly.

“Something about looking like an old Western-“

“Exactly!” You interrupted, “I might be jumping to conclusions, but the gun, the scalping, the race of our targets,” you counted your list on your fingers as you spoke, “I think our Unsub’s fantasy includes him being a cowboy. Like, a heroic, wild west cowboy.”

He nodded, eyebrows dipping as he thought it over, “That would explain the extreme sadism,” he added, “the narrative of most of those shows are cowboys versus Indians.”

“So,” you took a quick sip of your coffee, “maybe we should be looking for other murders that included any type of rope, gun- hell, even something like a horse.”

“That will help narrow it down,” he agreed.

“And! I almost forgot!” You couldn’t contain yourself, “Ranches, farms- they’re huge pieces of land that would be a very smart location to torture someone quietly.”

“We need to call Garcia,” he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket quickly, “and (Y/N)?”

“Hm?”

“Good work, really,” his hand rested on your shoulder, “but I’ve never expected any less.”

Before you even had a chance to respond, his phone was to his ear, and he was asking Garcia to narrow her search to the new parameters you had discovered. He rose and walked toward the board, looking over the crime scene photos, hand resting on his hip, as he talked. You just sat still, shoulder burning where his hand had laid, heart pounding in your ears. The warmth of his compliment surrounded you, making your cheeks hot and your mind fuzzy. A smile slowly edged it’s way onto your face, your shoulders rising as you held your coffee a bit closer, trying desperately to keep that warm feeling inside. You knew how ridiculous it was, to be sent into a full blush over a small compliment- and quite frankly, it was a compliment you heard a lot- but the mere fact that it came from SSA Aaron Hotchner, the man you found yourself think about way too often, made it all that more special.

“Thank you, Garcia,” he hung up the phone, turning to you again, “you should take a break. I can handle this by myself for a while.”

You relaxed back into your chair, taking a slow sip of your coffee, “You first, Hotch.” A smirk found its way to your lips.

“I’m fine.”

“No one ever says that when they’re actually fine.”

He just stared at you for a long moment, gaze narrowing slightly.

“You’re not going to budge on this, are you?” He asked.

“Not an inch,” the smirk never left your face. A smile of his own played on his lips.

“Fine,” he conceded, “but, as soon as Garcia calls back, it’s back to work.”

“Deal,” you nodded, “now, come sit and enjoy your coffee and candy I got you.”

He followed your orders, settling into the chair beside you (which was very close to you), and finally taking a drink of his coffee. A content sigh made his shoulders relax, eyes closing as he set down his cup.

“I never knew coffee from a gas station could taste so good,” he sighed, eyes meeting yours as a content smile settled on his lips.

“You’re welcome,” you teased, nudging his arm with your elbow.

“And this,” he held up the PayDay, “is my favorite. How did you figure that out?”

“Every old man likes PayDays,” you said cheekily, biting down on your lower lip to keep yourself from giggling. His eyes narrowed at you, but his smile only grew.

“I could put in an insubordination complaint right now,” he threatened.

You relaxed in your chair, letting out a noncommittal sigh, “Just show me where to sign, Hotchner.”

He laughed, putting the candy back on the table and shaking his head, “You’re lucky I understand your humor.”

“And it’s one of the reasons why we get along so well, Hotch,” your nudged his shoulder. 

He chuckled a bit, his smile settling on his lips. He looked deep in thought, a certain tenseness tightening his shoulders and making a muscle leap in his jaw. You looked over at his hand, noticing how it fiddled with the corner of the candy’s packaging.

“What’s bothering you?” You asked, not really expecting much of an answer. He had opened up to you before, but it had been extremely late at the time, and he was, in that moment, probably more sleep deprived than rational.

He locked eyes with you, staring for a moment before speaking, “I’m sorry you had to talk to Captain McGuire,” he looked away, “and that nothing really came of it.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured, slightly confused as to why he looked so guilty about it, “I did it because he potentially had information that would be useful to us. I’d flirt with every dirtbag in this station if I thought it could help us.”

“I know, and that is what makes you so valuable to this team,” he avoided your eyes, reaching for his cup again, “you’re able to control your own emotions in order to do your job.” He took a sip.

Oh. You thought, that’s it.

“Hotch, you had every right to be angry.”

His eyes snapped to you, unmistakably surprised that you saw through him. Well, maybe he was aware that it wouldn’t be too hard to see what was bothering him, but he wasn’t used to someone just… calling him out completely.

“I was irrational,” he spoke, “unprofessional.”

“If I was in your shoes, I would have acted the same way.” Your hand hesitantly found his arm, palm resting on his bicep and fingers landing on his shoulder. His gaze flickered down to your hand, then met your eyes once again.

“You’re allowed to be human,” you said, softly, “and sometimes, humans have emotions. That’s kind of the whole reason why we have a job.” You giggled a bit as you spoke, trying to show him how ridiculous it was to feel guilty for a perfectly natural and normal reaction.

“Did he bother you too much?” He asked, nodding towards the office of Captain McGuire. You chose to ignore how he had changed to subject.

“No, not really,” your hand fell away from his arm, feeling noticeably colder when contact was lost, “I’ve heard worse from the men I meet at bars.” You chuckled a bit, shaking your head, “You know, you should hear some of the things I say to drunk men that bother me. I think you would find it amusing.”

Of course he would, he would love to hear you put a man in his place. The feisty attitude you saved for those who bothered you was one of his favorite things about you. It never failed to make him smile, wether it was directed at someone else or- on occasion- him. Your demeanor was nothing short of soft and caring, but once someone crossed you, well… hell hath no fury quite like yours. 

“I would have to agree with you on that,” he chuckled, finally beginning to loosen up, “but, please, if any of these officers seriously bother you, tell me.”

“Alright,” you held your hands up in mock defense, “but I can’t guarantee that I will hold off on putting my two cents in.”

“I wouldn’t dream of getting in the way of that.”

“Good.” You smiled brightly. He returned it, having to look away before his face began to flush red. He wanted to just reach out and touch you- hold your hand, hug you, anything- but the thought of trying made his hands start to shake. You made him nervous, a feeling that he didn’t feel often, that he didn’t enjoy at all. But, he knew what it meant. He knew that he was far past the point of no return; the future would consist of his complete and utter falling for you. It terrified him, honestly, but it also thrilled him. He knew what love was, he knew how it felt. The ‘great love’ every one always fantasizes over, was a love he had already experienced. And God, was he determined to feel that again. Not always- he wasn’t always in the pursuit of love- but ever since he met you, that perspective changed.

But it still was frightening, the thought of loving you. He had experienced love, but he also had experienced loss. He knew that letting you take full control of his heart would be putting himself at risk of extreme, unimaginable pain. Pain that he never wished to feel again. Pain that he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. It was a dangerous, terrible gamble, the game of love. On one hand, he would be sacrificing himself in the constant war he fought with vulnerability, but on the other hand, he could mend the still broken pieces of his heart and be whole again.

The shrill ringing of your phone pulled him away from his internal battles, his brown eyes finding your (Y/E/C) ones.

“Garcia,” you breathed out, promptly answering and putting the phone on speaker. “You’re with me and Hotch, Pen, what’d you find?”

“Hello my lovely lady and sir, I have two potential victims for you,” she answered, the indistinct clicking of a keyboard in the background. “I narrowed the search with everything you gave me, then again to any murders that took place Thursday through Saturday.”

“The same time frame he’s using now,” Hotch added.

“Exactly. That search left me with two names,” she paused a moment, probably pulling up the case files on her screens, “Kenneth Thompson, 35, died six weeks ago by a single gunshot wound to the chest, and his body was found in his apartment, with his limbs hogtied, like a cow… or a little piggy.”

“His race?” You asked.

“White, which doesn’t match our latest victims, but I have more,” the clicking was heard again, 

“Carlos Dominguez, a 32 year old hispanic man, found four weeks ago, dead, by a single gunshot would. But, there are also reports of deep lacerations to his hairline area.”

“So, he tried to carry out his fantasy, but it quickly died when he couldn’t ignore that Carlos was hispanic.” You suggested.

“He always favored the shooting,” Hotch said, “but didn’t develop the hatred towards the Native Americans until his third victim.”

“Or rather, he just realized that he couldn’t use surrogates for them. He needs the real thing.”

“That explains the development of the thumb removal- if he kills Natives with the belief of an afterlife, then he can’t let them go to their version of heaven. It wasn’t necessary for the first two victims.”

“He makes them suffer, even in death,” you shook your head, completely disgusted, “thank you, Garcia.” You hung up the phone, placing it back on the table and leaning back into your chair. Your eyes eventually found Hotch, whose elbow sat on the tabletop, his jaw cupped in his hand.

“I think we need to call the team back in here,” you said quietly. He checked the watch on his wrist briefly, then returned his hand to his chin.

“They have fifteen minutes, let them have it.” He muttered.

***

Briefing the team when they returned was anything but nice. They stood around the conference table once more, as Hotch told them about the new victims and the Unsub’s MO. Revealing and analyzing the true sadism of this Unsub was something that even Emily struggled with. The more the team learned, the more motivated they were to stop him.You could see them all getting visibly more distraught the more you told them.

“So, this guy is just playing cowboy?” Derek asked, anger evident in his voice.

“‘Playing cowboy’ is a very tame way to put it,” Emily scoffed.

“How do we even go about trying to find this guy?” JJ asked, arms crossed over her chest.

“We can start with farmland,” Dave suggested, “single out any that are secluded, or on very large pieces of land.”

“Let’s call Garcia,” you said, taking your phone out of your pocket.

“How big would a farm have to be in order to be secluded enough for this Unsub to operate?” Emily wondered.

“If we take into the fact that the Unsub is probably firing a gun on his property,” Spencer began, fingers intertwining together as he thought, “and, a football field- without the end zones- are roughly 1.38 acres, or 60,112.8 square feet, I would say you would need at least four or five acres to conceal that type of noise.”

“What can I do for you, Holmes?” Garcia chirped through the phone.

“We need you to pull land deeds- look for any farms with at least four acres of land, within the comfort zone,” you said, holding the phone near your voice.

“Got it,” she began typing away, “oh, my- well, you have 143 matches, my dear.”

“You said he hogtied his first victim,” Dave pointed towards you, “Garcia, narrow it down to farms that have cow and/or pigs on them. He had to learn how to tie a knot like that somewhere.”

“You have a brilliant mind, my Italian Stallion,” Garcia praised, “we’re down to 87.”

“How many of those also have horses?” Emily asked, “Can’t be a cowboy without a horse.”

“22.”

“That’s still too many,” you sighed. Hotch laid his palms flat on the conference table, head bowing in defeat.

“We’re missing something,” Spencer mumbled, walking towards the evidence board with narrowed eyes. His head tilted as he stared at it, mouthing words to himself silently.

“What do you see, kid?” Derek asked, taking a step towards Spencer.

“The gun,” he responded, finally.

“The gun?” Morgan questioned. Before getting an answer, Reid had whipped around towards the phone.

“Garcia, the first two victims, what did they conclude about the gun used?” He spoke quickly.

“Um,” she typed just as fast, “it was registered, but reported stolen two weeks prior by 62 year old Harvey Pooler… oh no, Pooler died four days before Kenneth was killed. Heart attack.”

“Did Pooler own a farm?” Spencer asked.

“Let me… see,” a small gasp came through the phone, “He did.”

“Take a 50 mile radius from the Pooler farm and cross that with our 22 potentials.”

There was a couple seconds of typing before she spoke again, “We have a hit. Five acres owned by a Timothy Locke.”

“What do you have on him?” Emily pressed.

“He lived there his whole life,” Garcia spoke quickly, “mother died when he was young, father was… well, not the best father. Multiple trips to the ER when Timothy was still little Timmy.”

“Where’s the father now?” Hotch asked.

“Dead,” she answered shortly, “Month and a half ago, natural causes.”

“That’s right when the killings began,” Rossi observed.

“There’s our stressor,” JJ added.

“What about hobbies? Places he frequented? Anything to tie him to the cowboy fantasy,” You asked.

“Besides his ownership of horses,” Garcia clicked away on her keypad, “he was a frequent flyer of the local rodeo, even participated in it… oh no.”

“What is it, babygirl?” Morgan asked worriedly.

“This particular rodeo, well, it was more of a reenactment type of show,” she explained, “most of their ‘historical retellings’ were that of the wild, wild west. The racist, kill the Natives, wild, wild, west.”

“Garcia-“ Hotch began.

“Oh, honey, I know. Addresses are sent… now.”

“Let’s go,” Hotch said, everyone starting to hurry out of the room.

“Be safe, my loves!” Garcia called.

“Love you, Penny, great work,” you told her, before hanging up and following your team towards the SUVs.

***

The kevlar vest reading ‘FBI’ hung on your shoulders, the slight weight grounding you completely in the events that were about to occur. You glanced over to Hotch- who was staring straight at the dirt road with both hands on the wheel- then looked over your shoulder at Reid and Emily in the backseat, nodding at them slightly before facing forward once again. Your heart was already racing with adrenaline, the rhythmic beat loud in your ears.

Emily glanced out the window, eyes scanning over the seemingly endless fields surrounding the many farms in the area. It all looked so peaceful, the way the green blades stretched towards a crystal blue sky, it was almost heartbreaking that such awful, heinous deaths had occurred on the very same land.

Spencer was leaned over slightly to see out of the front windshield, eyebrows pulled downwards and lips set in a serious frown. He was scanning for a farmhouse, a shed, anywhere that someone could keep another person hostage. The three of you were already driving on the property, just looking for the specific spot where the Unsub operated.

“Over there,” Spencer pointed to the right, a small, white, wooden house coming into view. Hotch turned sharply down a dirt road that shot off the main one, hoping it would lead up to the farmhouse Spencer had spotted.

It wasn’t long before the vehicle stopped, the four of you swiftly jumping from your seats, meeting Dave, JJ, and Morgan as they also left their SUV. You looked up at the farmhouse, eyes squinting slightly from the now rising sun. It was large enough to be comfortable for two, maybe three, people, with a front porch that lead to the entrance. It was two stories, a small, round window sitting on the front and center of the house. The white of the painted wood seemed to illuminate in the orange of an awakening sun, and you could’ve called it beautiful, if you weren’t aware of the horrors that took place inside.

“What’s our plan?” Emily asked, facing Hotch.

“We’re going to do a soft entry,” he began, “Morgan, Reid, and JJ will lead in the front, Dave and I will go around the back. Prentiss, (Y/L/N), there’s a cellar to the right, take some SWAT officers with you, but I want you to clear below.”

“You got it, boss,” you nodded, turning and calling over two SWAT members.

“Alright,” Hotch drew his gun, “Let’s go.”

You and Emily moved alongside Derek, Spencer, and JJ, breaking off as they closed in on the front door. You reached the doors of the cellar, looking over at Emily. She looked back at you, smiling slightly and offering a reassuring nod before grabbing ahold of the handle on the left door. You took a deep breath and grabbed the other one, looking back to Emily once more.

“One,” she counted softly, “two… three.”

You both simultaneously lifted the doors, the two-man SWAT team moving forward, descending the stairs before you and Emily. You were close behind, guns raised. Your flashlight moved around the room, finding it to be mostly empty, save for a few cardboard boxes in the corner. You turned to your right, finding a door tucked away by the staircase.

“Emily,” you alerted, “we have a door.”

She moved over to stand beside you, “Boys, over here,” she beckoned the SWAT officers, nodding toward the door with her head.

They approached slowly and quietly, taking position on each side of the doorframe. One reached out and placed a soft hand on the doorknob, waiting three seconds before turning it and pushing it open, immediately drawing their weapons in from of them as they cleared the small room. You and Emily followed them in once again, your eyes going straight to the unconscious man in the very middle of the floor. His head hung, arms bound behind him and legs bound to the chair he was sat in. His shoulders slumped, his hair stringy, and a small trail of blood trickled down his forehead.

You rushed towards him, the light flickering on as you knelt down beside him. Emily’s hand left the light switch and moved to the restraints on the man’s hands, working quickly at the knots. With gentle pressure, you pushed your fingers on his neck, breathing out a sigh of relief when you felt a pulse beneath them.

“We need a medic in the cellar,” you spoke into your radio, keeping your fingertips against the man’s pulse and taking a silent count of how many beats passed every minute.

“Sir?” Emily asked, finally untying his hands, “Sir? Can you hear me?” She had to hold onto his shoulders to keep him from slumping completely forward.

“We found the hostage, Hotch,” you said into your comm device, “currently unresponsive, we have medics en route.”

There was no answer.

“Hotch?”

Silence. You looked up at Emily, whose worried expression matched yours.

“Hotch,” she tried, “can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“Hotch, Reid, Morgan,” you spoke quickly, “JJ, Rossi, do you copy?”

Radio silence.

“Stay with him,” you said, quickly rising to your feet.

“(Y/N), what are you-“

“You,” you pointed at one of the SWAT members, “come with me.”

“You can’t just go up there- (Y/N)!”

You ignored Emily’s protests, jogging up the stairs of the cellar, the SWAT officer right behind you. Holding your gun in front of you, you turned left, heading towards the back of the house. Reaching the back door, you slowly crept up the stairs, clearing right as the SWAT member cleared left. The first room was the kitchen, small and vintage, then you passed into a living room, with purple couches sitting in front of an ancient TV. Cowboy themed decor hung on every square inch of the walls, ranging from horseshoes to framed photographs of Western icons, such as John Wayne. You moved through the room, turning left through a doorway, which led to the entrance of the house. Pink and yellow sunlight leaked through the glass detailing at the top of the door, illuminating the staircase that sat almost directly in front of it. The SWAT officer appeared on the other side of the entryway, nodding towards you in a silent was of saying ‘all clear’. You nodded back, allowing him to ascend the stairs before you, his boots creaking slightly against the steps. 

As you neared the top of the stairs, you could hear the low voice that plagued your every thought, the voice that talked to you in your best dreams and worst nightmares, always speaking of comfort and serenity.

“Timothy, we just want to talk-“

A sickening, teasing laugh cut Aaron off, the unmistakable sound of heeled boots tapping against the floor echoing through the house.

“We both know that’s not why you’re here, officer,” a southern accent laced through his words, his voice dark and deep.

You crept towards the voices, which were carrying down the hall. One door was open, down near the end and to the right. With quiet steps, you made your way towards it. You held your hand out toward the SWAT member, having him stop a few feet behind you. Placing yourself at the edge of the doorframe, back passed firmly against the wall, you dared to peek your head into the room. 

That’s when the smell started to hit you. It was rotten, pungent, and… familiar. Your nose crinkled, eyebrows furrowing as you tried to understand why you recognized something so awful. Then, you realized.

The smell of death.

Your eyes scanned over the walls, stopping at a far corner. Hanging from the ceiling were the three scalps that were taken from your victims, a silver bullet casing tied up with each one of them. You took in a shaky breath, trying to stop yourself from hearing their screams, or picturing the way they looked as they were tortured. 

Shaking your head to clear those thoughts, you turned your attention back to your team.

The Unsub’s back was to you, JJ held firmly in a chokehold with his left arm, his right hand holding a revolver with the barrel pressed to her temple. Hotch, Morgan, and Reid stood in a semi-circle in front of him, guns all drawn and aimed.

“You don’t have to do this, man,” Morgan bargained.

“Of course I do,” Timothy Locke, the Unsub, laughed again, “if I have her,” he shook JJ slightly, “then I have a chance of leaving here alive.”

You moved your head out a little more, catching Hotch’s eye. Looking between you and Timothy, he nodded, ever so slightly. You knew what he meant, you didn’t need his words to know what you had to do.

Quickly, you switched to the left side of the doorframe, positioning yourself to enter the room without Locke seeing you.

“Putting the gun down and surrendering will get you out of here alive,” Spencer urged, clearly distraught that the Unsub was holding a gun to his best friend’s head.

“And you would love it if I did just that, wouldn’t ya?” Locke sneered, readjusting his grip on his gun slightly.

You slipped into the room silently, gun raised and steps slow. Hotch’s eyes flicked to you every few seconds, his expression- hardened and serious, but what else is new- unchanging. 

“We know what your dad used to do to you,” Hotch said lowly, catching the attention of Timothy.

“You don’t know shit.”

“We know of the hospital visits, the broken bones. We know that you were left alone with him after your mother died,” Aaron’s voice was unfaltering, purposely trying to irritate Locke.

It was working.

“I said,” he hissed, “you don’t know shit.”

“Then enlighten me.”

Timothy took a deep breath in before speaking, “Do you know what happened in this house? Between these walls? How every time I wasn’t good enough or smart en-“ his hands swung out to the side as he talked, his anger getting the best of him. In one swift movement, his right arm had extended away from JJ, and you were holstering your own gun and lunging for Locke’s weapon.

You pushed his arm backwards, his hand tightening from the surprise. A single gunshot rang out, and a searing pain ripped through your left arm, causing you to cry out. JJ moved out of his grasp, which had loosened significantly, turning towards him and kicking his left knee inward, making him sink to the floor. You pressed your right hand to the hole in your arm in an attempt to stop the bleeding, using the last bit of adrenaline in your body to swing your leg up and connect your foot to the face of Timothy Locke, making contact with a sickening crack, rendering him unconscious. He was down before Derek, Spencer, and Aaron had even moved forward- it had to be less than ten seconds.

Spencer reached you first, pressing his palm over your hand, applying more pressure as your grip started to loosen and your fingers slipped from beneath his.

“Look at me, (Y/N), look at me,” he ordered. You tried to, but your head was dizzying and you were having a hard time keeping your eyes open.

“You’re going to go into shock,” he spoke quickly, “just keep your eyes open, okay?”

After cuffing Locke and checking in with JJ, Hotch rushed towards you, reaching you just as your knees buckled and gave out from below you. His arms held you steady, his knees bending as he slowly sank down to the floor with you.

“I- I don’t think the artery was hit, but there’s a lot of bleeding, so I’m not su-“

“Reid.” Hotch interrupted. Spencer’s eyes shifted from you to Hotch, eyebrows turned upwards, nothing but worry in his features.

“Call for medics again,” he instructed Spencer, whose hand was still on your arm, “don’t stop calling until they get here.”

Hotch’s hand replaced Reid’s, his free arm holding you against his chest. Your eyelids still drooped up and down, your battle with sleep being anything but victorious. It was almost like a dream, blurry and vague, with a feeling of unfamiliarity. You weren’t completely aware of what was happening. Hell, you still were not feeling the pain of a bullet passing through your arm. That’s how you knew something was very, very wrong.

“Keep your eyes open,” Hotch spoke, his soft words landing delicately on your ears, “keep looking at me, (Y/N).”

The corner of your mouth tilted slightly, “I got,” you let out a small giggle, high on adrenaline, “I got shot, Hotchie.”

“Yes, I know, honey,” his voice was still soft but by God, was he using all his strength to keep it that way. He fought against the way his heart threatened to leap from his chest, the way his mind became frantic at the sight of your blood painting his fingers crimson, the way he could feel his breaths losing rhythm. 

It was through and through, he thought, it will be okay, they will be okay. 

And yet, despite his logical thoughts, he felt like he could cry as he held you close.

“Did you get him?” You asked, your words weary and strained.

“We did,” Aaron could only whisper to keep his voice from breaking, “you saved them, (Y/N). Now, just do me one favor and keep your eyes open.”

Your hand shakily covered his, your fingertips delicate they brushed lazily over his knuckles. The small touch brought a small, content smile to your face- and that mad tears reach Aaron’s eyes.

He looked up as the EMTs burst through the door, kits jostling in their hands. Seeing them felt like taking a breath out of water, like he could finally get oxygen in his lungs again. He looked back to your drooping eyes as they pulled you out of his arms, working quickly to stop your bleeding.

He stood and backed away, stumbling over his own feet slightly, his gaze never leaving you. You were moved to a plastic cot, straps securing your head, chest, and legs, as you were lifted from the ground and ushered through the door. Hotch stayed where he was, focus trained on the pool of blood that began to seep into the wooden floor, turning it a dark burgundy. His mind attempted to understand that the stain was, in fact, from your blood. Suddenly, the weight of what he saw everyday piled on his shoulders, from the gruesome photos to the actual victims. He was always aware of their humanity, of their worth, but his jaded mind could look past that and move along. Now, it seemed he couldn’t hide behind compartmentalization and insensitivity. 

Sirens chirped outside, the sound floating in through the window, and his head snapped up at the sound.

Flashes began to obscure his vision. He saw the home he shared with Hailey, he saw the smiling and devilish face of George Foyet, he saw the lifeless eyes of the mother of his child, the blood that stained the carpet, the way his fist smashed in Foyet’s cheek, the way Hailey looked when she was gone, the way Jack looked when he asked where she was.

Then he saw you. He saw your smile, the light step of your walk, how delicate your hands looked as you wrote, how you bit your lip if you focused enough, the way your hair caught the light. He saw the sunshine that brought light into his dark, dark life.

The siren chirping once more brought him back to reality.

With his trance broken, he rushed out of the room, steps pounding against the creaky floor and echoing throughout the house. He ran down the stairs, the echos creating a drum roll in his wake as he finally stepped onto the front porch. The ambulance door clicked shut, the EMTs finding their seats before the ambulance sped away, sirens blaring.

He watched you leave until the sun engulfed the ambulance in orange light. His chest was heaving, in and out, mouth hanging open slightly. Suddenly, the kevlar around his torso felt much too tight, his hands finding the velcro and tearing at it. His breathing quickened, the kevlar falling to the ground, but the pressure in his chest still present. Frantically, his finger fumbled with the top button of his shirt, nearly ripping it off in his urgency.

“Aaron?” Dave asked, ascending the porch stairs towards his friend, “Aaron, are you okay?”

“I can’t,” Aaron wheezed, hands pulling down on the collar of his now exposed undershirt, “I can’t breathe-“

“Sit down, sit down,” Dave ushered him to the floor, Aaron practically crumpling into himself, “now, exhale completely.”

Hotch did as he said, shoulders hunching as he let out his breath.

“Now 4 seconds, in through the nose,” Dave followed Aaron’s movements, his hand accentuating his breathing, “hold for 7 seconds,” there was a pause as the two men held their breath, “and now, out for eight.”

Aaron closed his eyes as he exhaled, the tightness of his chest beginning to loosen.

“Keep doing that until you’re ready to talk,” Dave said gently, settling into the floor of the porch while he waited. Hotch completed three more cycles before he opened his eyes. He looked at Dave, eyebrows flicked upward in worry.

“Now,” treading lightly, Dave asked, “what was that about?”

“I don’t know,” Hotch answered quickly, avoiding Dave’s gaze.

“Aaron, the rest of the team may be fooled, but I am not,” Dave began, pointing over his shoulder at the team, “I’ve seen the way you look at them, and the way they look at you.”

That made Hotch’s heart flutter, the thought of you looking at him the same way he looked at you.

“I’m not pushing you to do anything you don’t want to,” Dave defended, “but you already have so many things you keep to yourself, you might have to let this one out.”

Aaron sighed, jaw clenching slightly, “I know.”

“Good,” Dave smiled, patting Hotch on the shoulder before getting up and walking away, preparing to fend off the rest of the team and their questions. Hotch was on his feet just as quickly, rebuttoning his shirt and retrieving his kevlar. His face had returned to the stoic expression everyone was used to, but his pulse was still racing.

***

“The doctor says they will be okay,” Derek told the team, taking a seat beside Spencer, “they’ve been moved to recovery; we can visit once they’re awake.”

Everyone nodded, a gloom hanging densely in the air. The team knew you would be okay, in all reality. Spencer had been sure to spout off a multitude of statistics to prove that a shot in the arm, avoiding the brachial artery, was survivable. But, despite the logical comfort, Hotch could only remember the way you looked, bleeding and incoherent in his arms. The bright, lively red of your blood on his hands was an image that would stain his mind as permanently as the very same blood stained the wooden floor of that house. He figured he could add it to his endless collection of gruesome images that lived in his brain, but he also knew he was a fool if he thought he could compartmentalize that away.

His elbows leaned against his knees, hands coming to a steeple upon his lips. The lines beneath his eyes grew deeper with every passing hour, but he remained in the same position, just as quiet. When it came to his thoughts- in particular, the dark, intrusive thoughts that came to him when the sun went down- he was fairly good at navigating through them, keeping them from degrading his worth as a human and protector. However, as he sat in the uncomfortable, plastic chair of the hospital you were a patient of, he could only think of how many people had been hurt (or worse), because of him. He could only see the way Reid cried as Tobias Hankel tortured him, the way JJ broke when he told her he couldn’t protect her job, the betrayal in Morgan’s eyes when he realized he had buried an empty casket, the beaten and bruised face of Emily after Benjamin Cyrus found out she was FBI.

But then, he saw Hailey. He saw her lying, dead, on the ground of the bedroom they had once shared, the room in which they had decided what to name their child, the room they laughed and cried in, the room they had loved in. She gave him everything he had to live for- his son.

Then he saw you. Dipping in and out of consciousness, calling him nicknames and smiling as you bled onto the floor. The way you giggled and called him ‘Hotchie’ was a happy image spliced into a bigger picture that made bile raise into his throat.

Lastly, he saw George Foyet. At least, what had been left of him. He remembered how he didn’t even feel his knuckles split open as they collided with Foyet’s face. It scared him, truly, how he didn’t stop, even after George was gone. It scared him how he would’ve stayed there, killing a man that was already dead, if Derek hadn’t pulled him away. The broken, mangled face of The Reaper haunted him the most.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him away from his thoughts, his eyes reaching upwards to see who it belonged to.

“You in there, boss?” Emily chuckled, a dazzling smile on her face. 

“Uh, yes,” he nodded once, clearing his throat as he stood. He smoothed down his shirt, suit jacket having been abandoned long ago. In vain, he tried to look like he hadn’t been caught off guard.

“They’re not awake yet, but the nurse said we can go see them, if you’d like.”

He nodded, blinking twice as her words processed in his overworked mind, “Lead the way.”

His strong facade was held together by bubblegum and paperclips when he entered your hospital room. The way you looked so serene- with your eyelashes resting upon your cheeks and your shoulders completely relaxed- it was almost overwhelming. It was only hours earlier that he watched that same face contract in pain, those same eyelashes flutter in an attempt to stay awake.

He stayed by the door as the team found their place around your bed, his hands finding themselves in his pockets and his eyebrows pulling downwards, like they always do. His heart physically ached beneath his chest, its beat no longer the allegro of anxiety, but the slow waltz of failure. He had failed you- failed to protect you, failed to keep you safe. Imagining where that bullet could have landed made it all the worse.

It was bittersweet, really, the way you made him feel. There was a sunshine, a happiness that you infected those around you with. Your warmth was a gift you gave to everyone you met, regardless of who the were or what they’ve done. You would pull the hurt and forgotten from the earth without questioning their origin, your delicate hands caressing them gently with the comfort they’ve never known. You spoke words that covered the listener like summer rain, moved in a way that mimicked the lithe movement of dandelions in the breath of spring. He would surrender himself to you in the way the tides surrender to the moon, and a small part of him knew he already had.

He would give what little of himself remained, if you’d asked. The thunderstorms and lightening he had journeyed through had washed away pieces of him, leaving an otherness that felt all too unfamiliar, that stared right back at him whenever he looked in a mirror. But, regardless of how much he lost of himself, no matter how withered he became, all of it would be yours, if you’d asked. Because, despite the darkness that engulfed his waking moments and controlled the rest, you were always beside him, with a candle to light the way. And for that, he would promise to love you with everything inside him, despite the raindrops that dance on his feet.

If you’d asked.

But, you wouldn’t, he knew, so he wouldn’t fall in love with you. He couldn’t. His heart was tired, weary, and weak. The thought of loving you- in the jumping-from-a-cliff-but-laughing-as-you-fall kind of way, because allowing himself to love you would open a floodgate- and potentially losing you; that was a trauma he couldn’t see himself recovering from. He didn’t have the strength to. So, he would reside in the outskirts of your life, keeping himself close enough to feel the warmth you radiated, but far enough to feel a chill trace his spine.

And that’s exactly what he did. He stayed near the doors of your hospital room, looking silently as the team conversed lightly with your sleeping ears, hoping you would hear their words despite your lack of consciousness. He could hear their gentle whispers, the way they teased each other, the gentle laughs they exchanged. He stood in a room of people that loved and were loved, each of their hearts clean of the bruises that riddled his.

He doesn’t remember when he left, or how he ended up in the George Bush Intercontinental Airport, but he was seated in an airplane seat, staring out to the wisps of clouds and star-spotted sky, mind empty and full all at once.

***

Your eyes slowly pried themselves open, the bright, white light overwhelming your senses momentarily. A groan left your mouth, eyelids dropping once again, your head tilting towards your pillow.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” the voice of Derek Morgan teased, a small smile coming to your lips.

“Am I in heaven?” You croaked out, “I think I hear the voice of an angel.”

“You’re too good to me, (Y/N),” he laughed, his hands gently patting yours. You opened your eyes again with a sigh, looking around the room at your team.

“You had us worried there, kiddo,” JJ chuckled.

“Sorry,” you grimaced, “I didn’t mean to get shot, I swear.”

“Well,” Spencer spoke up from his chair beside the hospital bed, “don’t ever do it again.”

“Pinky promise.”

“Yeah, leave the dying to me,” Emily joked, earning a weak laugh from you.

You looked around at your family, the people you loved most in the life you had, and you hid the disappointment you felt because one was missing.

***

Aaron entered his apartment, shoulders heavy as he set his briefcase by the door. He turned to find Jessica asleep on the couch, hands tucked beside her head. He walked towards her, pulling a blanket from the back of the cushions and draping it over her. She stirred slightly, but settled quickly. 

He moved numbly, putting his gun away securely and removing the belt around his waist. Walking towards the bedroom down the hall, his shoes were kicked off and his dress shirt was discarded, leaving him in slacks, socks, and his white undershirt. 

With a low creak, his eyes peeked through Jack’s barely open door to find him sleeping soundly in his bed, the dark blue comforter pulled up to his chin. Aaron stepped into the room fully, closing the door softly behind him. Carefully, he climbed into the bed beside his son, settling into the pillows. Jack reacted immediately, curling under his dad’s arm. With a small kiss to the little boy’s forehead, Aaron allowed himself to fall asleep, willing away the darkness of the day. Pushing the twisted thoughts away, his mind concentrated on the boy in his arms, and the incredible love he held for him.

[fandomrewrites]

Season 2; Episode 11: Battlefield

Hello all! I’m almost done with season 2! I’m super excited for you guys to read the last few chapters. As I was looking over this chapter I realized there are some time differences from the show but I need it like this so it makes sense for (Y/N). In the future I may go back in change it but if I do it will probably only be changed on my Wattpad. I hope you all enjoy and as always constructive criticism is appreciated! 

Season 2; Episode 11: Battlefield

Pairings: Scott McCall x Twin Sister, Lydia Martin x Best Friend, Isaac Lahey x Reader

Warnings: mild violence

Word Count: 3,061

Season 2 Masterlist

Waking up the next morning was something I didn’t quite understand. I was confused. I thought I had died and I didn’t know what really happened since I passed out or bleeding to death for most of the night.

When my eyes fluttered open because sunlight was streaming through the crack in my curtains, my first instinct was to look around and figure out where I was. Once I realized I was in the safety of my bedroom and not in a hospital bed like a normal person who was shot would be, something in my mind clicked.

I immediately shoved the blankets off of me, realizing that I was in my pajamas and not the same clothes as yesterday. Though I decided to ignore that and instead pushed my shirt up to see the gunshot wound, only to see that there was nothing there. I turned to my night stand to look at my clock which read 10:00am, I guess I’m not going to school today.

I subconsciously ran my tongue over my teeth as I stood up to go take a shower and prepare for the day. Once I finished I made my way downstairs and grabbed some food. On the counter was a note: (Y/N), please get some rest. Stiles said that Matt hit your head hard XOXO Mom

I crumple up the note and throw it away once I finish eating. I then grab my house keys and my phone, locking the front door. 

About ten minutes later and I make it to the abandoned train station that I know Derek and his pack are hiding in. “Derek!”

He comes out of the shadows, his blue eyes looking me over. “You look better than last night.”

I cross my arms, teeth clenched, “You bit me.” All Derek does is nod. “I told you to let me die. I didn’t want this.”

Derek briefly looks down before meeting my eyes once more, “You need to speak with Stiles. He’s the one who convinced me to give you the bite.”

“And I will. But just because he told you to bite me doesn’t mean you had to listen. Why couldn’t you respect my wishes?”

“Honestly? I almost did respect your wishes. But after hearing what Stiles said I knew I couldn’t let you die. Hell I didn’t want to let you die even before Stiles asked me to bite you. I knew that if I couldn’t possibly save your life I needed to give it a shot.”

“It wasn’t your call.”

“No, but I still think I made the right decision. You’ll thank me later.”

I scoffed, my anger rising and eyes flashing white. My hands squeeze into fists, “Yeah right. Maybe next time actually listen, you’re supposed to be good at that, being a werewolf and all.”

When my eyes flashed Derek’s mouth dropped open but I didn’t let him say anything as I turned to walk away. “(Y/N).” Derek grabbed my wrist.

I yanked my hand back, “Leave me the hell alone.”

“Wait! Your eyes...” He trailed off.

I narrow my eyes in question, “What about them?”

“They flashed white.”

I pause thinking, “What does that mean? I thought Beta’s have yellow eyes?”

Derek shakes his head, “I don’t know. Just try to control your anger. I don’t need you turning randomly.”

*_*_*_*_*_*

Instead of making my way to my house I made my way to the Stilinski residence and climbed in through Stiles’ window to wait for him.

I lazily lay across his bed waiting to hear his arrival. At the sound of his footsteps I move to a seat position, waiting for the door to swing open. “Holy crap, (Y/N/N). What are you doing here?” He gasps when his gaze falls on me.

“We need to talk.”

Placing his bag down he stops to really look at me. My face has a look of betrayal mixed with anger, though he tries to pretend he doesn’t know why I’m here, “Yeah. What’s up?” Stiles sits down next to me.

I start to shake my head, “Why did you tell Derek to bite me even after I said I didn’t want it?”

Stiles takes a breath, “I couldn’t let you die. I knew it would break your mom and Scott. And maybe I was being slightly selfish cause I didn’t want to live in a world without you. I mean you’re basically everyone’s rock, “(Y/N).”

“I didn’t want this though.” I whisper, tears glistening my eyes.

Stiles looks at me concerned and hesitantly grabs my hand, “I’m sorry. Are you mad at me?”

“I was. But now I’m just sad.” I took a breath and wiped a tear that slipped down my face, “I don’t know what to do. Does Scott even know that I was bit? And what happened with Matt?”

“I told Scott at school that Derek had to bite you to save your life. Matt died, drowned. And your mom knows about Scott, I don’t think she knows about you though.”

“How?” I choke out, referring to the fact that my mom is now aware that her son is a werewolf.

“She saw him change at the station last night.” I nod, slightly dazed from all of the new information.

“I went to talk to Derek. He said my eyes were white. And he didn’t know what that meant.”

“They weren’t yellow like Scott’s?” I shake my head, “So are you a werewolf or something else?”

“I don’t know. I healed fast, there’s not even a scar from the bite or the gunshot wound. Actually I don’t even know where Derek bit me.” Stiles points to my arm, where there is no mark present to show that I was bit by an Alpha werewolf.

I paused turning my arm to look at where I assumed the bite mark once was. Finally, I looked back up at the brunette boy beside me, “I was thinking about asking Deaton.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll bring you.”

*_*_*_*_*_*

Walking through the front door of the vet clinic, I hear the chime go off at the same time I hear Isaac’s laugh. Not even a minute later, Isaac, Scott, and Deaton come out of the back room.

“Stiles, (Y/N). Come on back.” Dr. Deaton says, with a smile on his face.

My eyes immediately land on the dog on the exam table, my nose wrinkling at the smell, “He’s dying.” I bluntly state.

Scott’s eyebrows knit together, “How did you figure that out so fast?”

I pause, blinking, “I-I don’t know. I just sensed it or something.” My attention quickly turns to the vet, “That’s actually kid of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Deaton nods, “Something concerning you about the bite.” Though he’s asking, he says it more like a statement.

“Yeah.” I take a breath, “I went to talk to Derek. He said my eyes flashed white not yellow like a normal Beta.” I carefully watch the vet’s face to see if I can notice any change, “Am I werewolf or something else?”

“You’re all healed?” Deaton questions.

I nod, “Even when I woke up at 10 this morning, I didn’t have any marks on me. From either the bite or the gunshot wound.”

He narrows his eyes, gazing at me with curiosity, “I don’t know for sure, because these are quite rare, but once you turn on a  full moon you will know for sure. It’s possible that you’re a Zeta werewolf.”

“A Zeta werewolf?” Scott asks, just as confused as I am.

“Yes, they’re a rare type of Beta. Their eyes are usually the same color as their pelt.”

“Pelt? You mean that she can turn into an actual wolf?” Stiles questions the vet.

Deaton nods, “This can be controlled and you wouldn’t necessarily turn into a full wolf every time but until you learn control, every full moon you will probably turn into a wolf.”

“Cool.” Stiles breaks out into a smile as he looks between me and the vet.

“Is there anything else different about a Zeta?” I ask, curious to learn more about the type of werewolf that I may be.

“They are usually the Alpha’s left hand. They’re considered the most intelligent among the pack. Your strength won’t be as enhanced compared to a Beta or Alpha but your speed will be just as good as the Alpha. Even in human form you can possibly move like a blur. Your agility will also be just as good as an Alpha, even sometimes surpassing an Alpha’s agility.”

“Well that explains how easily I climbed up to your window.” I look at Stiles.

“Zeta’s also have superhuman intelligence. Which is probably why you quickly realized that the dog was dying. And despite the bite being from an Alpha, it healed so quickly because the healing process in Zeta’s matches that of the Alpha. Zeta’s are especially special in the fact that they have a partial immunity to wolfsbane.”

“Wolfsbane won’t kill me?”

The vet shakes his head, “It will make you slightly weaker and you will need to rest but it will not kill you. Of course, like any other werewolf you will have heightened senses. But Zeta’s have another sense known as the danger sense.”

“That sounds important.” Isaac mumbles.

Deaton nods in agreement, “That’s because it is. A Zeta Werewolf is able to detect dangers to themselves or the pack before anyone else. It’s one of the many reasons why Zeta’s are the left hand of the Alpha.”

“This seems like a lot of responsibility.” I sigh.

Deaton gently smiles, “There is one more thing. When shifted into their wolf form Zeta’s have a strong mental link, even stronger than the Alpha werewolf, which connects to both born and bitten werewolves.”

“Mental link? Like be able to communicate?” Scott asks.

“Not exactly communicate. But be able to sense how the others in the pack are feeling. If you practice enough you may be able to do this in your human state too.”

I nod, “So pretty much I’m a badass werewolf with a lot of responsibilities? Cool.”

“Look at it this way. A Zeta werewolf is so rare because most people cannot handle the position. If your body reacted to the bite this way, it’s because it knew that you were the right fit.” Deaton reassures me.

“Sometimes the shape you take reflects the person you are.” Stiles states looking at me.

*_*_*_*_*_*

The next night was the championship lacrosse game. Scott originally wasn’t planning on going but after Isaac told him that Jackson would be there, he knew he had to go.

Scott also caught me up with what was going on. Mom doesn’t know that I was bit and for right now we wanted to keep it that way considering we were pretty sure the Argent’s didn’t know either.

Speaking about the Argent’s, Gerard now had control of the Kanima, which makes Jackson even more dangerous than before. After finding this out I instantly had a sense that something bad was going to happen. I guess that was a warning from my danger sense that Deaton told me about.

I also found out (From Stiles not Scott) that Matt was in fact a creep and stalker. He had a lot of pictures of me saved on his camera and computer. Though it wasn’t just pictures, there were edits of us together. It was like he created a whole relationship between us. This obsession apparently started even when I was still dating Nate.

I didn’t feel sorry that Matt was dead. The only reason I was slightly concerned about his death was because without him alive, Gerard had control of Jackson which was slightly more terrifying than Matt stalking me.

To put it simply, I had a lot running through my mind throughout the day. I was growing more and more weary about the sense of doom that was hanging over my head and I was upset that I didn’t have a plan to stop whatever was about to happen.

The only thing I knew I could do was warn Scott and Derek that something was going to happen. And it was going to happen tonight at the game.

So I sat on the bleachers next to Sheriff Stinlinski and my mom waiting for the game to begin. Of course, I kept my main focus on Jackson and Gerard, knowing that the elder hunter had some sort of game plan set in motion.

My attention drifts from Jackson as the Sheriff asks, “Why’s my son running onto the field?”

I knit my eyebrows together and quickly scan the field finding number 24. “Because he’s on the team?” My mom says, though it sounds more like a question.

“He is. He’s on the team. He’s on the field.” Sheriff Stilinski gets more excited as he exclaims, “My son’s on the field!”

The whole crowd is giving the sheriff weird looks but I can’t help but to smile, also excited for Stiles.

Just before the game begins, Lydia takes a seat beside me. She smiles as she sits down and reaches to give me a brief hug. My eyes dance around the field looking out for any sign of danger.

Being so focused on the people below me, I flinch slightly at the sound of the whistle, still not used to having heightened senses.

Soon after the game starts Stiles glances in shock as the ball lands in the pockets of his lacrosse stick. I hear him whisper, “Oh God.” Before he even gets the chance to turn around an opposing player rams into him.

I cringe as my mom says, “He’s probably just getting warmed up.”

As the whistle blows, Stiles races forward slapping helplessly as players start to surround him. Another vicious hit has the crowd flinching. “He’s just a little nervous. Plenty of time to turn it around.” Lydia states.

“Yeah of course. It’s his first game. He’ll be fine.” I nod agreeing. Though part of me is doubtful.

At the next whistle we watch as Stiles tries to catch a pass but the ball bounces off his helmet instead. My mom, Lydia, and I all exchange looks, unsure of what to say. We then glance at the Sheriff but rather than watching the field or looking at us, he has his head buried in his hands..

A motion on the team bleachers catches my eye. I notice Isaac, in his lacrosse uniform, sitting beside Scott. I quickly start listening in on their conversation. “You came to help.” Scott says.

“I came to win.” Isaac replies. Both boys turn their heads to Gerard, who does not look happy with the surprise player. “You got a plan yet?” Isaac asks Scott.

“Right now it’s pretty much just keep Jackson from killing someone.”

“That might be easier if you’re in the game. We have to make it so Coach has no choice but to play you.”

“How do we do that? He’s got a bench full of guys he can use before he ever puts me on the field.”

I slightly shake my head as I watch both teenagers turn their attention to their teammates. This is not going to be good. “Can you do it without putting anyone in the hospital?” Scott asks.

“I can try.”

The next time the ref blows the whistle Isaac races past to take his position on the field. The ball drops and in the crash of players rushing to get the ball, Isaac knocks shoulders with a teammate sending him crashing to the ground. “Ramirez! You’re in.” Coach calls.

The injured teammate is helped past Scott as Cody Ramirez races to the field. Another whistle and another brutal crash of a Beacon Hills teammate. “Murphy. You’re in.” Coach then turns his attention to Isaac, “Lahey, what the hell’s your problem?”

Isaac glances at Coach and acting innocent, holds his hands up in apology. I bite my lip to hide the smile that is threatening to slip onto my face.

Bodies crash into each other on the field. There are several downed players, Isaac being one of them. I quickly stand up in concern, trying to get a better look. I hear Isaac whisper to Scott, “It’s not broken. But I can’t move it. I think Jackson nicked me. I can feel it spreading.”

I can then hear Gerard speak to Scott, “You want to play chess, Scott? Then you better be willing to sacrifice your own pawns.”

I see Isaac be pulled onto a stretcher as I hear Coach call, “McCall! Either you’re in or we forfeit.”

“I’ll be right back.” I mumble to my mom and Lydia. As soon as I make it away from the bleachers I whisper to Scott, “I’ll check on Isaac. Focus on Jackson and the game.”

*_*_*_*_*_*

I rush inside to where Isaac has been taken on a stretcher. Straining my ears to pinpoint his exact location, I hear the stretcher clatter to the ground. Then I hear Gerard’s voice, “It was a good effort, Isaac. It was. This would be so much more poetic if it were halftime.”

Finally understanding what Deaton meant by moving like a blur even in human form, I sped into the boys locker room seeing Gerard and two other hunters surrounding a half paralyzed Isaac.

Eyes glowing white, I quickly shove the first hunter flying into the wall of the showers, effectively knocking him out. I send the next one slamming down on the benches, splitting the wood in half. I glance around seeing Isaac but not Gerard, “Where is he?” I ask the hunter still in my grip.

When he doesn’t answer I punch him hard across the face, knocking him out too and rush to Isaac’s side. “How did you control it?”

I shake my head, “I don’t know. I think I was focusing on protecting you.” I pause looking down, “I remember Scott saying he didn’t lose control when he was focused on protecting Allison. Maybe protection has something to do with remaining in control.”

Before either of us can say anything else, an ear piercing scream is heard from the field outside.